I’ve always been a selfish girl. Super selfish, like… deep down dog dirty selfish. Richard even has a tattoo on his shoulder for me that says “hummingbird” because hummingbirds are as crazy selfish as I am.
When I was a kid, my parents used to be horrified when they’d start singing “Happy Birthday” at Farrell’s… they knew it would only be a matter of seconds before I would burst into big gulping sobs because the party wasn’t about meeeeeeeeeee….
The only occasion that could elicit a more primally negative response from my inner core than a Farrell’s celebration-not-for-me is when I see the volunteers here at the hospital bringing their “flower” cart my way… and they pass me by! Seriously, I find myself fighting down the urge to jump up and knock over the cart so NOBODY gets the flowers versus trying to decide if it would really look that obvious if I went online and sent flowers to MYSELF.
If only Richard were as big of a pushover as my Mom was back in the day… I’d SO be rocking a lovely arrangement of posies in the next 2 to 4 hours to outshine the one that just rolled past my door.
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