We're All Mad Here // Wonderplot
Sept 22, 2013 12:15:20 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Sept 22, 2013 12:15:20 GMT -5
"Oh, don't you look at me like that! A party is always a perfectly splendid idea and an un-birthday is certainly as good a reason as any. Now, you might not know this, because you've never had an un-birthday party — and to be fair, neither have I, but I'm throwing one and that's very nearly the same thing or at least it's only ever-so-slightly not —"
Pacing the living room, it's rather a difficult thing not to be impressed with myself. Countless improvised, handmade decorations have transformed my family's small apartment into an undeniably festive space for hosting today's celebration — colorful fabric scraps twisted around the usually dull metal of the District-issue chairs; a brightly painted tablecloth draped over the dining table; an assortment of sandwiches and other snacks; and even a few balloons — bartered from a passing wanderer — bobbing their way across the ceiling.
All in all, I'm quite pleased with myself, particularly when one considers what very short notice I was given. With rations as they are, gathering up the necessary ingredients for a cake involved several shady deals with people I must admit to feeling somewhat uncomfortable conversing with and a good deal more begging than is proper for a lady. (I daresay that Kachoo has a particularly useful talent for acquiring things like flour and sugar, but I really would have preferred not to have invited him to attend, if only that wouldn't have been such a rude thing to do... or not to do, I suppose. An invitation was, however, the only thing I could possibly offer him in return for his assistance.) Still, the end has proven to be worth the means and today's party will surely be something grand.
"— but Dinah." Turning my attention away from the lovely strawberry and chocolate cake sitting upon the table like a crown (the fruit carefully cut and arranged to look like little hearts upon the frosting) and back to the stuffed patchwork cat in my hands who seems to think that now is the most opportune of times to question my logic, I don't miss a beat in my argument. "This is a terribly important day for Cora. One's un-birthday party doesn't happen every day, you know, so it absolutely wouldn't do to have done nothing." At least, this is what Chestibor Rochdale convinced me of last week when he was explaining to me what, exactly, an un-birthday is.
I had just remarked to him about how much I liked the new buttons on his uniform — after all, they looked so shiny that they surely couldn't have been anything but new — and he replied how they had been given to him as an un-birthday present. "I beg your pardon?" I'd said and just as quickly he replied, "I'm not offended." We went round like this for a bit.
"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"
"A present given when it isn't your birthday of course." I had never considered such a thing before, but decided that I like birthday presents the best and told him so with absolutely certainty. "You don't know what you're talking about!" Chestibor exclaimed and proceeded to ask me how many days there are in a year.
"Three hundred and sixty-five," I told him with just as much conviction as my last reply, only for him to ask how many birthdays I have in a year. "One." It seemed rather a silly thing to inquire about, seeing as how everyone has precisely the same number of birthdays in a year as anyone else, but something in his expression told me I was obviously quite mistaken about one thing or another.
"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"
"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course, Chestibor."
"Well, I'd rather like to see that done on paper." With a sigh, I took out my notebook and pencil and worked out the sum for him:
He took the book and looked at it carefully. "That seems to be done right — though I haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now — and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might receive un-birthday presents —"
"Certainly, but I'm afraid I still don't quite understand —"
"— and only one for birthday presents, you know. Next week will be Cora DeWitt's one hundred and seventy-eighth un-birthday this year and I haven't heard that anything is being done about it. It's very upsetting."
Although I couldn't say that I fully understood how we had gotten to this particular point in our conversation, I couldn't help but to agree that everyone forgetting about someone's un-birthday did sound like a very sad and unfortunate thing. Honestly, I'm quite disappointed with myself for having been ignorant for so long! I have always considered myself to be fairly well informed and yet every time I speak to Chestibor, he always seems to know so much more than me about things like this. I'll never understand how I manage to miss out on learning about such things, but I'm relieved to have been corrected about this.
Dinah still doesn't seem to agree and I don't know how else to explain, so I bring her over to the kitchen counter to keep an eye on the tea. Stuffed animal or not, if she can't be supportive than at the very least she can make herself useful. Hopefully the rest of today's guests will be a little more enthusiastic when they arrive.
Pacing the living room, it's rather a difficult thing not to be impressed with myself. Countless improvised, handmade decorations have transformed my family's small apartment into an undeniably festive space for hosting today's celebration — colorful fabric scraps twisted around the usually dull metal of the District-issue chairs; a brightly painted tablecloth draped over the dining table; an assortment of sandwiches and other snacks; and even a few balloons — bartered from a passing wanderer — bobbing their way across the ceiling.
All in all, I'm quite pleased with myself, particularly when one considers what very short notice I was given. With rations as they are, gathering up the necessary ingredients for a cake involved several shady deals with people I must admit to feeling somewhat uncomfortable conversing with and a good deal more begging than is proper for a lady. (I daresay that Kachoo has a particularly useful talent for acquiring things like flour and sugar, but I really would have preferred not to have invited him to attend, if only that wouldn't have been such a rude thing to do... or not to do, I suppose. An invitation was, however, the only thing I could possibly offer him in return for his assistance.) Still, the end has proven to be worth the means and today's party will surely be something grand.
"— but Dinah." Turning my attention away from the lovely strawberry and chocolate cake sitting upon the table like a crown (the fruit carefully cut and arranged to look like little hearts upon the frosting) and back to the stuffed patchwork cat in my hands who seems to think that now is the most opportune of times to question my logic, I don't miss a beat in my argument. "This is a terribly important day for Cora. One's un-birthday party doesn't happen every day, you know, so it absolutely wouldn't do to have done nothing." At least, this is what Chestibor Rochdale convinced me of last week when he was explaining to me what, exactly, an un-birthday is.
I had just remarked to him about how much I liked the new buttons on his uniform — after all, they looked so shiny that they surely couldn't have been anything but new — and he replied how they had been given to him as an un-birthday present. "I beg your pardon?" I'd said and just as quickly he replied, "I'm not offended." We went round like this for a bit.
"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"
"A present given when it isn't your birthday of course." I had never considered such a thing before, but decided that I like birthday presents the best and told him so with absolutely certainty. "You don't know what you're talking about!" Chestibor exclaimed and proceeded to ask me how many days there are in a year.
"Three hundred and sixty-five," I told him with just as much conviction as my last reply, only for him to ask how many birthdays I have in a year. "One." It seemed rather a silly thing to inquire about, seeing as how everyone has precisely the same number of birthdays in a year as anyone else, but something in his expression told me I was obviously quite mistaken about one thing or another.
"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"
"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course, Chestibor."
"Well, I'd rather like to see that done on paper." With a sigh, I took out my notebook and pencil and worked out the sum for him:
365
- 1
364
- 1
364
He took the book and looked at it carefully. "That seems to be done right — though I haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now — and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might receive un-birthday presents —"
"Certainly, but I'm afraid I still don't quite understand —"
"— and only one for birthday presents, you know. Next week will be Cora DeWitt's one hundred and seventy-eighth un-birthday this year and I haven't heard that anything is being done about it. It's very upsetting."
Although I couldn't say that I fully understood how we had gotten to this particular point in our conversation, I couldn't help but to agree that everyone forgetting about someone's un-birthday did sound like a very sad and unfortunate thing. Honestly, I'm quite disappointed with myself for having been ignorant for so long! I have always considered myself to be fairly well informed and yet every time I speak to Chestibor, he always seems to know so much more than me about things like this. I'll never understand how I manage to miss out on learning about such things, but I'm relieved to have been corrected about this.
Dinah still doesn't seem to agree and I don't know how else to explain, so I bring her over to the kitchen counter to keep an eye on the tea. Stuffed animal or not, if she can't be supportive than at the very least she can make herself useful. Hopefully the rest of today's guests will be a little more enthusiastic when they arrive.
