thirty-seven If I think the number I remember the fever, the red line on the thermometer, what is the boundary between the well and being sick. Division. Yesterday I made
thirty-seven years and again I felt a shift ... Yes, I took quite Malin.
Thirty-seven years, which are no longer thirty-six, still down a bit 'close to thirty and still quite far away from forty. Thirty-seven years old, who ran away flying, especially since they arrived the children ... Thirty-seven is a number insidious: you're not and you're still a bit 'as it happens in adolescence. They are not "old" but neither are they more a ragazzuola, I do not know what they are, as lost in this sort of limbo, which usually does not think a normal day but when all their best wishes to you then you have to stop and have a mind attimino local ... you can not make the dumb, one must become aware!
But for once I noticed with great pleasure that during the day yesterday I was not overwhelmed by the treacherous illness that usually hit me in the fateful days of the completion of the year: Oh, I always got the anxiety! And yesterday did not.
I chose not to go out to dinner alone with the wife but a much better dinner at home ... cooked by the wife! With the children next to me, to us, that they are the most important of these thirty-seven years!
toast with candle and Berlucchi (una!) on tart with berries (taken in confectionery, the only concession ...)
Other than the restaurant! I love Philip when cooking for me, plus it is also good!
So much heat and emotion of receiving a special little things, but true, that made me forget this infamous number ...
... and then so today is a day like any other!
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