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Birthday blues

I think one of the most optimal moments during one’s lifetime for truly feeling sorry for oneself must be upon reaching the 39th birthday. First, it’s that number 39 - not big enough to announce a big party or anything – yet somehow big enough to make you feel really down. Your 39th birthday is basically a reminder that if there was somewhere or someone you wanted to be by the time you are 40 – it’s probably not going to happen now.
Yesterday was my 39th birthday. On the eve of my birthday, I was watching my favourite comedian, Stewart Lee, on Netflix. For years now, my husband and I have been trying to get tickets to see Stewart Lee perform live in London – but like so many things, it just hasn’t happened. As if by divine intervention, the comedy routine that I randomly selected to watch on the eve of my insignificant and most likely unmemorable birthday, was the one he did about being a 45-year-old vasectomised, functioning alcoholic, father of two. A man who dreams of being forgot…

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