So what if it is my birthday and I am 500 years old? it hardly matters to the me inside staring out of these eyes at the screen. That little me is the one that shared all of my adventures and helped me blush and bubbled my way into some kind of adulthood and he is still there. . .
winking at me.
Every now and then he looks out, like right now, and rasps “Happy Birthday you fucking Tosser, you still look good to me; lets have a wank together.”
I, of course, smile benignly and remember That it was him that made me run riot at 14 and drunk as a skunk in London giggling and avoiding cops.
I declined his offer of auto eroticism but secretly smiled knowing the devilish tosser is still there. . .and up to no good at all.