It was 29th July yesterday. Six months (to the day) after my birthday.

I glanced up at mum, who had just met me at Starbucks.

"I’m 31½ today." I beamed proudly.

Fortunately mum has known me, as you may expect, for that entire time, and is used to my occassional outpouring of crap, so she didn’t bat an eyelid.

Two minutes later she piped up with "In three months time you’ll be 31 and three quarters!"

 

Bless her, daft old moo. 

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