Birthday Dinner (Confessions Nov. 24)
When I was younger I had a fantasy about being eaten.
As a child I used to lie on my stomach in the center of the rug in my bedroom, making my toys eat each other. This titillated me to no end, and I had dreams about being hunted and hunting. I cut holes in my stuffed animals so that I could seal them inside each other, creating meta stuffed animals each one containing another, containing another. They were full and densely pregnant, and in my child mind these intense passions and anxieties about love and consumption, birth and death, were all deeply intertwined. I had a beautiful little jade figurine, a baby the size of a kangaroo fetus, which is roughly the size of an almond. One day I swallowed it, and instead of passing it, it became imbedded in my stomach, and migrated into a different part of my body. The doctors and my parents watched it anxiously until, like a bullet lodged in a veteran, it finally stayed put. It caused me no pain and they decided that my undergoing surgery for its removal was not worth the risk. It has been with me for 17 years now, and sometimes I think of it as an arrested child I can never give birth to, and that moves me.
MY birthday is on January 3rd, and I am planning a party and inviting all of my friends. The partiful went up months in advance. It reads:
“Please come celebrate my birthday. This event is very important to me, and if you are receiving this invitation it is because I love you and cannot imagine my life without you. Please honor me with your presence, food and drinks will be provided, and the dress code is formal attire OR your very favorite clothes. “
The event will be held at the restaurant where I work, as it is a small, casual, charming little spot with fairy-lights in the windows. I have a set menu planned out, beginning with hot soup to stave off January’s freeze, and the hot pipes in the restaurant will be clanging and full of steam. As my guests arrive and look quizzically around at each other, (probably thinking variously, who the fuck is that, why was HE invited, I thought she hated her etc. etc.) they will probably wonder what is going to happen. Is this a reading? An intervention? A kickback? An orgy? Where is Annabel?
My best friend Cassidy will temper the odd vibe by dancing in a coy little dress, engaging everyone with her eyes and laughing intelligence. She will control the music from the ipad in the corner of the restaurant, as the soup warms everyone up. She knows each and every person and can make them all feel like the center of the world.
On the menu will be two standard dishes from my restaurant: the lamb triangles, and the chicken boureki. Sorry vegetarians, this time I cannot account for you. These are both variations of little meat pies baked in phyllo dough. They are light, crispy, and blended with spices. They come with side salads and grain, making for a very round meal. I am hoping everyone will be drinking wine and unfiltered ale, laughing and whispering and chatting and maybe even singing a little if Cass throws on the right series of songs. I am hoping that everyone will really enjoy the triangles and boureki and be full and satisfied and warm and energized.
I guess it will be kind of this stupid bit, of me not being at my own party, and everyone waiting for me. I don’t want that bit to drag on for too long - but my hope is that everyone eats their meal at a normal pace and doesn’t pick at it for hours like some of my blasted customers do. If all goes to plan, at some point when the energy is still up, there will be a major disruption. Midwife Cassidy will have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on the lucky (or unlucky) bastard who chokes mid-bite on a little jade baby the size of an almond and sends it flying across the room, fulfilling all of my fantasies at once and ultimately, freeing my soul.