I am quickly approaching my 42nd birthday which means two things: I was born in 1968 and come next October, be listening for the sirens. And not because I am trotting out that old euphemism about candles and hot firemen. Nope, I plan on my birthday parties to be worthy of police responses…someday. I figure that by the time I hit my 90s, I will have earned the right to disturb the peace a bit with some good ole wild celebrating. Because birthdays are a big deal. And because, sometimes, for a just a bit, I do enjoy being the center of attention.
But sometimes, I would just as soon have everybody overlook little ole me. I guess the difference is if they come peering at me with a gift-wrapped prezzie in their hands.
Because as much as it may surprise some of you to hear this, even extroverts who regularily take the stage can get a bit freaked out over being the center of attention. Sometimes, everybody looking at you just makes you want to take a cue from Bert the Turtle and do some serious “duck and cover”. (Anybody else old enough to have done the whole “nuclear holocaust” drills as a kid? Oy. Nothing like that little brand of fun to make a kid grow up maladjusted and more than just a wee bit jumpy around loud noises.)