"Welcome to your dirty thirties," I read the title of the online article out loud to no one in particular. After all, there I was sat in my London flat all on my own.
I picked up my phone and listened to the solitary voice message I had received. "Hello," the Scottish female accent said, "Happy Birthday, you old woman. Sorry we can't be there, Jon's up to his eyeballs in work, and well I'm not sure I'd be much drinking fun being 7 months pregnant and stuff. But we love you anyway and hope you have an absolute blast."
I smiled. Ginny was so stupidly happy now it was on that line between being sweet and sickening. I checked my Instagram, pregnant friends, married friends, married, and pregnant friends. I looked around at the mess that surrounded me, "single and dirty, welcome to thirty," I thought.
I put my laptop and phone aside and lifted myself from the sofa. I made my way to the bathroom, and after taking care of my morning toilet needs (you honestly don't want me describing that in detail, there are other websites for that), I stood and looked at myself in my body length mirror.
"Shit," I thought. My striped fleece pajama pants and my blue t-shirt didn't do me a lot of favors. I pulled my t-shirt tight, I grimaced as my stomach seemed to be sticking out a little at the front, my boobs seemed to be sagging that little more. I turned around, my bum was definitely showing the effects of the beer and cake diet I had recently adopted. I turned to face the mirror and reached up to my face. I stretched the skin beneath my eyes, seeing how loose it had become.
I started to undress, turning away from the mirror. That particular humiliation was now over for the day. I moved into the shower, turning it on. The ice-cold water hitting me eliciting a loud screech.
"Mother fucker," I yelled, reaching to the temperature control, I turned it slightly and was then hit with a blast of molten magma.
After two minutes of impersonating a safecracker, I dragged myself miserable from the cubicle of torture. I brushed my teeth and then walked across my apartment, wrapped in a towel to my bedroom. I grabbed my hairdryer and hairbrush. Flicked the switch on the hairdryer; nothing.
"Damn it," I screamed out, throwing it on the bed. I then realized it was not turned on at the wall.
Once my hair was dry, I put on a white t-shirt and black leggings. I was not in the mood for too much effort to work today. It was a Friday I just wanted to get through.
******************
"Joanne, please come to my office when you can," the message said on my screen.
Elaine had been my manager now for three years. She was lovely, a little older than the women she managed, most of us around my age, she was in her late forties by the look of her. She was tall, great legs, a chest that was either worked on or a gift from the gods, and a face that made her age challenging to judge.
I walked in, "hi Elaine," I said, smiling.
"Hi Joanne," she said, looking up and smiling warmly, "take a seat."
I smiled and sat on the chair beside her desk. Her office was small, the desk pushed into the corner, which gave it a warmer feeling. You couldn't sit opposite her, and she didn't sit opposite you. It was in stark contrast to the executives we assisted, who liked their power plays, their big chairs, their perceived dominance.
"Happy Birthday," Elaine said, smiling.
"Thank you," I said, smiling back, "though I don't really do birthdays."
"Really," she said, crossing her legs looking at me, suddenly looking more like a high school counselor than a manager, "why is that?"
"Not a lot to celebrate, or a lot of people to celebrate with," I shrugged as I spoke.
"Well, perhaps the girls will take you out after work?"
"They have no idea it's my birthday, I never tell anyone."
"Well, I might tell them."
"I'd rather you didn't Elaine if that's ok," I said, firmly enough to get the message across.
"Well, I can't let you have your thirtieth birthday pass without at least one drink and a meal, I insist on taking you for dinner after work, I'll expense it," she said, winking amusingly.
I smiled, "ok," I said, "who could ever turn down a free meal?"
"One more thing, work-related," Elaine said.
"Oh?"
"You have a significant amount of annual leave owing to you, and as you know, company policy dictates that you must take at least one week in every six months. It would appear that you have not done that in... two years?"
"Well," I said softly, "haven't really had anything to do?"
"Well that may be," Elaine said, "but the policy is policy. So next week, I don't expect to see you at work."
"I have nothing to do, though?"
"I'm sure you will work something out, we can discuss it over dinner."
******************
Elaine met me outside the office, she looked elegant as always, tall, thin, like a middle-aged supermodel who had maintained her looks and could now get any man she wanted with the flick of her fingers. I walked up to her looking like I should be picking the fourteen kids up from school.
"Long day, Joanne?" Elaine asked, looking at me.
"Just Martin and his need for reports that don't exist," I said.
"Twenty-five years, and he still has no idea what it is he actually does," Elaine said, laughing.
I giggled, it was the same joke that all the personal assistants said about him, but I had never heard it from a senior manager.
"I've ordered a car," Elaine said, smiling at me, "it's on the company's dollar, so I'm a little beyond giving a shit."
I looked at her even more shocked, this was not the Elaine I knew as a model employee to be looked up to. I then saw a long black limousine coming towards us. It couldn't be, surely?
"This is us," Elaine said, waiting as the driver came round and opened the door, "in you pop."
I looked surprised but quickly got into the Limousine. Elaine followed me in, sitting beside me.
