Categories: Ramblings

‘Sup folks. Enjoy the Easter break. I know I did, especially since my birthday was on Good Friday. Yup, the ol’ dog finally hit 21, the legal drinking age in America apparently. That’s why you’ve gotta love Jamaica, where you’ll only get turned away if you look like Smirnoff Ice will have you slurring. It was no grand celebration by any means. All I got was a shirt. It wasn’t even wrapped and it had the price on. Nice to see you went all out Mom. Hmm. That would make a nice tee. “Today was my birthday and all I got was this lousy…anyhoo, I expected more. Naturally, as this is such a momentous occassion. The day I officially rid myself of the shackles of youth and fully embrace the mantle of manhood. But let’s face it, we all know that happened some time ago. But I’m fortunate, because as I said last year, Jamaican males stop getting pampered once they hit 18, worse if they’re working. Thankfully my mom likes to pamper me. No shame in being a Mama’s boy when she gives you stuff.

My girl wanted us to go out, but to hell with you I said! I’m gonna stay home! Well, not nearly that forceful, but I told her that I did not wish to leave my house. She was pissed at me for the rest of the day. Oh, and you know no Jamaican birthday would be complete without a good beating from your friends. I didn’t get floured. But after a certain age you just don’t bother to flour people anymore. I got my “21 tumps” from four of my closest male friends, one of which plays rugby and another who’s an expert runner. Ouch indeed! So, what now? Well, this is the last joyful birthday of them all. Each one after is just another step in the wondrous journey towards old age, when you lose bowel control and memory and gain wrinkles and that dreaded old people smell. I think I’ll stop counting down from now on. Nah. I’ve still got a few more years of youth left. Maybe at 30.