Yesterday was Friday, but somehow today is Sunday. I guess it seems that way on weekends for everybody.

Sometimes it seems like time goes slow and other times it goes much faster. I have heard that it is relative, but I'm not sure what it's akin to; although it sure would be nice to have Father Time as a rich uncle.

Maybe then he would give me a little free time for a birthday present. Not that it's my birthday anyway, mind you, but it's always nice to have something to look forward to. Somewhere around 21 you stop looking forward to birthdays. After that, I have found myself more often looking back on old birthdays than forward to new ones. I was going through old photos the other day in making a new album and found a few nice ones.

Even though I don't usually get many birthday presents like I did when I was a kid, it is worth mentioning that I was lucky to have been born June, almost perfectly equidistant from the Yuletide season — right in the middle of the year.

With Easter in the Spring and Halloween in the fall, I pretty well had the four seasons covered when it came to candy, cakes and presents. Late April would have been a down time for me then, somewhere between the chocolate bunny and the birthday cake.

I can remember a few birthdays now; many of them seem to fade together. I bet it only gets worse as time goes by. then again, perhaps I blocked a few of them out, made a few better than they were via reminiscence and, for a few years there, I was just too young to remember.

The earliest one I can recall was when I was probably around three years old. I might have been two, but it's really not important. It's not one of those clear memories, but I have pictures of the event to jog my memory. The pictures could have become my memory by now, with all those years in between now and then fading out the experience.

I was young enough to sit in a high chair and it was my birthday, I know that. I had one sister on either side, posing with me and the cake. This is one of those memories that everyone else likes to remind you of. It isn't a memory I usually tell people about myself. It's like those naked bathtub pictures that your mother shows to your girlfriend when you are about 15 or 16 years old.

It could pass as one of those pictures that makes you want to crawl underneath the coffee table when they break it out from the red and yellow, amoeba-patterned dust-covered photo album with yellowed pages.

I can see the picture in my head right now. It shows me not really wanting to share the cake. Literally speaking, I stuck my head into the cake, face first. In explaining my motives, I would say greed or hunger were to blame. When you have a round tummy you have to keep that chow a flowing.

The next frame shows me holding up my arms like a victorious runner, soon after I had put my arms in it as well, from the look of the picture. They must have known this was going to happen, given the fact that I was outside on the lawn instead of inside the house.

They just let me eat all I wanted and then hosed me off. I don't think anyone else ate any of my cake, so at least some good came out of it.

That might be a good way to have your cake and it eat it, too. It would definitely be a good way to get strange looks at your next dinner party, I'll tell you that much.

You know, I might just do that again this year, just so people will have something to remember about my birthday. If someone did something like that and you were there, you wouldn't forget it either.

I hope someone has a camera to record the moment, so that I can look back when I'm older and be embarrassed. Just like the first time.

I also hope they don't think I'm having a heart attack and try to start CPR on me. But most of all, I really hope my family doesn't have me committed for trying to drown myself in a moist semi-sweet carrot cake with cream cheese icing. (This last sentence might be imbedded with subliminal messages for those of you who usually bake me a cake).

I hardly ever eat sweets . I just don't care for sweet tastes. I like salty, spicy and sour much better than sweet.

I hope that doesn't say much for my personality. If it does, I don't sound like the kind of person I could be around all of the time.

But as for sweets, I can, on occasion, eat a slice of pie — provided it isn't very sweet. Cake is a very once-in-a-while thing. Like only on birthdays and only a little bit.

How much is a little bit? About however much I can scoop out with one mouthful, going face first into the top of the thing, I suppose. For this year, I'm not counting what I will have to clean out of my eyebrows. I'm not watching my weight, unless you count my ongoing effort to get my stomach out where I can see it a little better. It's coming along pretty well already. In closing, those of you who might be interested in attending my birthday party, don't forget to bring your own cake. If you plan to take the plunge, you might grab an extra towel or a bib for yourself. Oh yeah, and bring a camera. No one will believe that seemingly normal-minded, healthy adults would do that, unless you could show them a real live color picture. It might be a birthday hard to forget that way.

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