Maybe I shouldn't have groused about this diary so much. It turned out to be the only gift I got. Dad wished me well but I guess the diary was a joint present from both parents. Of course the students don't know when my birthday is, and I doubt the rest of the staff cares much.
I think, since it's my day, I should enjoy myself. My favorite thong, the black satin one, is back from the laundry and I've got it on. It seems to have shrunk just a little bit, but I'm not complaining. Tight is nice. I went through my old trunk and found my favorite getup from the Death Eater days -- a long green feather boa, which tickles in just the right spots, and my black leather corset. It was hard to put that on myself; in the old days, there was always someone around to lace me up. But I managed. I pulled on my black boots with the short spike heels and quickly discovered that I've almost forgotten how to walk in them.
A bit of practice set me right. I can even dance now without falling, which is good, because I'm planning to spend the evening with a flagon of mead and some old records. I have to give Muggles credit -- they're pretty useless in some respects, but disco must be the music of the gods.
Happy birthday to me.