It is my birthday next Thursday and Kelly is leaving no stone unturned looking for the perfect birthday card for me.
Even if it means going through every rack in the dollar shop.

…

The maths keeps telling me that I’m about to turn sixty-one.
The physiology vehemently disagrees that this is way under-calculated. And my behaviour doesn’t give a shit because it is stuck at fifteen and seven months.

Life is weird like that.

This photo is part of my self-imposed greyscale photographic challenge. Here are the rules.