Thirty Three.

Today is March 17^th. March 17^th is a significant date in my calendar, not because it’s St Patrick’s Day (my Irish ancestry is sufficiently historical as to preclude the urge to wear a green leprechaun hat once a year), but because it’s the birthday of somebody I used to know. And because it’s her birthday, I feel naturally inclined to send her birthday greetings. The problem is, however, I doubt she would welcome them now.

But I had a thought. Suppose she is still prepared to receive my greetings on her big day, and suppose she still has my blog address. It is just within the bounds of possibility that she might drop on here to see whether such a greeting is forthcoming. Stranger things have happened, after all. So that’s why I’m making this post. And so:

Sincere greetings to you, my lady, and very many happy returns.

You know, for some reason that old song Where Have All the Flowers Gone kept running through my head earlier, and maybe this is why. Maybe it’s all the fault of March 17^th.  Nearly all my flowers have disappeared over the past few years, and she was one of the biggest and brightest of the lot. And by an odd coincidence, she was the only one who went to a young man – although, to the best of my knowledge, he didn’t become a soldier, merely a proud father. At least I hope he’s proud, and I hope he knows how to treat princesses well. Both of them.