Where I work, every month, there’s a potluck to celebrate the staff birthdays in that month. Today is the December birthday potluck. I brought the oatmeal-white chocolate-cranberry-pecan cookies I bake every Christmas season.
I didn’t tell anyone it was my birthday this week, but they found out anyway, to my great surprise. I’ve been greeted all day with friendly well-wishing… I haven’t been called “the birthday girl” with such effusiveness in a long time. I feel as shy as a little girl hauled up to the front of the class to be given a prize. Why does unexpected kindness cause us such embarrassment? Everyone is so nice, I don’t know what to say. I hope they don’t think I’m standoffish.
This birthday has been the best one in a long time, and the actual birthday-day isn’t even here yet. Maybe it’ll be a week of celebration, truly. How nice it is, and how lucky I am.
[This post was imported on 4/10/14 from my old blog at satsumabug.livejournal.com. Three years later I wrote again about being embarrassed/discomfited by kindness.]