Thanksgiving Birthday

Yesterday I did some research and this is what I discovered.

My birthday has been on Thanksgiving seven times: when I turned two, seven, thirteen, twenty-four, thirty, thirty-five, and forty-one.

It's been a fairly long stretch since the last time this happened (no, I won't be telling you exactly how long). This year will mark the eighth time in my more than fifty years that my birthday lands smack on Thanksgiving Day (and, no, I won't be telling you how many more than fifty years it's been).

I love when this happens because I feel that it allows me to make a request that otherwise might be considered selfish and lazy: I want to eat out for Thanksgiving.

I really prefer going out to eat with my family over cleaning my home, shopping for groceries, and fixing a turkey dinner with all the trimmings that is immediately inhaled, leaving a wreck of dirty dishes and pans in its wake. And, I must admit, I like the idea of going out to eat after a church service, but remaining entirely free from the associated guilt.

I won't have the opportunity again until I turn fifty-eight (and, no, I won't be telling you how many more years until that happens).