Stephanie Connolly  Writer   Wife   Mumma   &  Shoe Queen    ;-)                     
 
In just a few hours I’m going to reach the grand old age of twenty-six. It’s high time I invested in Botox Injections.

Except if I get Botox now I fear I might never get the chance to use the expression I’ve been working on for sometime. I’d hoped to use it before, alas I’ve not had the chance, but the practise has paid off cos I’m pretty good at it now and it’d be a shame to waste it.

I know it might seem a little unusual to practise a facial expression, but you see I have to practise looking surprised, because it isn’t often that I actually am surprised.

I’ve been shocked certainly, lots of times. But usually when I’m shocked I’ll gasp a bit, cry lots and then make tea. So there really is little need for a decent facial expression to convey the emotion. And anyway, being shocked and being surprised are two different things. I imagine.

It’s my fault I don’t get surprised very often. There are three main reasons. Firstly I’m an inquisitive creature, I like to know stuff. So I’ll bombard my potential surprise-r with question, upon question, until they eventually have no will to continue, and so abnegate and reveal whatever surprises they had hidden up their sleeves for me. Secondly I am incredibly impatient, (but you knew that anyway,) so any hint of a potential surprise and I’ll find myself powerless to cease seeking information until I have every inch of the surprise uncovered. And as if that wasn’t enough I’m also quite intuitive. (Psychic actually, though ‘Intuitive’ makes me sound far less nutty,) so if I can’t crack it with questions and impatience it doesn't matter, because I’ll probably just ‘know’ what my surprise is anyway. Whether I want to or not.

Either way it'll probably end in disappointment for all involved.

Recognising myself that I am indeed a crap surprise-ee I have always made no secret of the reason for my practising my surprised face. And that is that for as long as I have been walking the earth I have dreamt of having my very own surprise party. To walk towards a dark room and into an excitable cheer, a sea of happy faces and a display of party poppers has been a fantasy ever since I was a kid. It would be amazing. And I could do my best surprised face and there’d be a clown. (or maybe not.) And we’d all have a simply fabulous night!

But you couldn’t keep it a surprise from me. So I don’t mind that I know. And my ‘surprised face’ truly is very impressive. Nobody else would ever need to know that you know that I know. It’ll be our little secret.

I realise that I’ve left you very little time to organise my party. What with it being my birthday tomorrow. But you won’t have to do much. Just hire me a room somewhere with alcohol and a dance floor that is compatible with my Roland Cartier shoes (i.e a not sticky) and invite everyone on my Facebook Friends list. And I’d need a cake. Obviously. But a little one would do. So long as it’s big enough for lots of sparkler thingys. Cos I’ve always wanted lots of them.

Oh I can’t wait! (But don’t worry, I’ll forget that I know about it now.)

Though I’ve yet to have my own surprise party I’ve had some wicked Birthdays all the same, particularly in this last decade.

The year 2000 saw me turn sweet, (sort of) sixteen. I celebrated with my mates in Yates Wine Bar in Camberley. I might have been two years too young, yet ‘Yates’ was my regular haunt back then. Oh and that night was the best! The Karaoke. The Pink Cow-girl hat I wore. (A fashion faux pas perhaps, but at the time it was a much-loved accessory.) - Mum made me a chocolate cake with candles. A one and a six. But before anyone else noticed a friend of mine had the bright idea to turn the ‘6’ upside down. Thus turning me 19.

‘Hello Steph’ spoke a familiar face leaning against the bar. Nice jeans, lovely shoes. Early 20’s, rather dishy actually, (as mum would say.)  It took a few seconds for me to realise who he was.

‘Happy, er ‘19th’’ He smiled. I blushed furiously, nodded and replied, ‘Thank you Sir.’ He knew I wasn’t nineteen. He taught year 11 P.E at my school.

Later Mum and Paul dropped my friends and I off at Pantiles. We danced the night away to Shania Twain, Britney Spears and S club 7. I can’t remember exactly why, but I do recall telling the bouncers that it had been the ‘best birthday ever!!’
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The following birthday wasn’t quite so successful. I went to Bo's - Bojanglez Nightclub—my fav club in Guildford at that time. I’d just returned from a holiday in Gran Canaria and had painfully obtained a tan to be proud of, (this was before my discovery of the wonders of fake tan.) I teamed the tan with a little denim number, white denim jeans (those were the days when my arse defied gravity, so I could get away with them then) and a matching jacket, embellished with lots of silver and gold studs.

Anyway the outfit, carefully selected to win back the heart of the bloke I had been seeing in college, didn’t have the desired effect. In fact he didn’t even notice my JLo inspired look. Because he was too busy in an embrace with another girl. And he didn’t come up for air.

But of course I was a survivor. An independent woman. I was working for my money. The shoes on my feet? I bought ‘em. I didn’t need no man to validate me. Blah, Blah, Blah. So I did what every independent girl would do. I got pissed, cried and made an absolute twat of myself. And that was the end of that.

My 18th was a blast. I had a house party at Mum and Pauls pad in Eversley. I don’t know how I convinced them to agree to it. But they did. And as far as house parties go this one was pretty successful. Nothing got broken, no-one got hurt, (except my gold-fish, Inny, who nearly met his fate when Best Friend and Fish-slaughterer Katy, poured the entire contents on his fish food into his bowl because she thought he ‘looked hungry.’)

 



 
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The following year, 2003 I began my Music Course at Brooklands and found myself tottering in stilettos and a faux fur jacket into a class room of punk-rocking guys with holes in their faces, rainbow-coloured hair and beyond-baggy jeans. And whilst I didn’t immediately find myself kicking off the heels in favour of a pair of Converse, I did form unlikely but everlasting friendships with these guys. They opened my eyes to different trends, my ears to different sounds and my mind to different views. They are the reason that I am just as happy to listen to Rage Against the Machine as I am LLCoolJ.

It was obvious that this birthday would be different. And I blew out my 19th candle on a free pastry, (given to me by a lovely lady in a service-station) at 2am on the M4 on my way home from a gig in Wales.
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My darling daughter made her debut on the outside world a week before my 20th. Marking this birthday the official turning point in which this girl became a woman, (well, a ‘mother’ at least.)

Lorelei and I had a joint party that year, at home in Arborfield. A party to celebrate my birthday and to welcome Lolly into the world.

My 21st was a Hollywood-themed bash in Woodham. With Karaoke. (Can you spot the pattern here?!) fabulous dresses and dancing til dawn. T’was an awesome night.

And for my 22nd I chose to flick a middle-finger up to maturity by hiring the Laser Quest in Guildford for my friends and I.

Karaoke and a massive party at the Castle in Chertsey was on the agenda for 2006 and my 23rd. I think we continued the party back at our pad by the river? Jay?? Anyone?? Ah well, whatever happened it was wicked. (My 23rd came a close 2nd to my 16th in order of best birthdays ever.)


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Nothing could top that, not really. My 24th didn’t. It was crap actually. Not worth documenting.

And last year, my 25th I was pregnant with Leo. I drank a quarter of a can of Bud on the tube to celebrate, (classy girl that I am) and Jay and I went to see Blood Brothers with Steve and Ellie. Twas a lovely evening, even without the alcohol.

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Phew, and there you have it—proof that even at the grand old age of 26 my memory is still very much intact!

How about yours?? Can you remember your last 10 birthdays?? If so pray do share!

In the meantime I’ll see you at my surprise! Ssssshhhh!!

Steph x

 

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