Happy Birthday, Aunt Mildred!

"Ninety-nine. A hundred!"

When I opened my eyes, my cousins weren't hiding.

"We're not playing anymore," they ran off and I anxiously followed.

Every single family member, no matter how distant, was there. They had come to celebrate my great-great-aunt Mildred's one hundredth birthday. We were in a community hall furnished with plastic fold-out tables and chairs and lazily decorated with Happy Birthday banners and balloons. It was next to a playground and soccer field from which our parents had to drag us back to the party with a 'Go wash your hands' or 'You've got mud all up your leg!'.

Mum helped me plate my food from the usual array of homemade potato salad et. al. and pointed to a corner of the hall, "That's the kids' table. Go sit over there with your cousins."

I shuffled over with intense focus, trying not to spill my plate or my cup of juice. Once I'd slid them onto the table, certain that they were secure, I went to sit down, but as I did, I heard a a scraping sound and I fell on my bum. All the kids at the table burst into laughter and pointed at me. I looked above and my cousin was standing over me, smirking and still holding the chair back. When I'd reclaimed the seat, the other older cousins were high fiving him and laughing with him, while I moodily munched on a sausage.

I, the littlest, was always the target of their 'fun'. As angry as I was at my cousin, I was also jealous. I wanted everyone to like me, to think I was cool, to not laugh at me but with me. As I picked at my food, I mulled over how I could make them laugh like he did. Then, I remembered a joke I'd heard Uncle Pete tell.

"Hey guys! Hey guys! Hey! Hey guys! Hey! Hey listen! Hey guys! Hey you guys! Yeah, listen! Hey! Hey guys! Hey! Hey! Listen! I've got-! Hey listen! I've got a joke! Guys, guys! I've got a joke! Wanna listen to my joke?"

When they'd finally relented, I went for it. "Why is Cinderella so bad at soccer?"

They groaned and mumbled, "Because she always runs away from the ball," followed by things like 'Everyone knows that one!' or 'You're not funny!'. The cousins then began telling jokes that they knew, trying to out-do each other, a competition I couldn't win or even enjoy at that moment. I sulked over to Mum and sat on her lap.

"She hasn't read the letter yet, has she?" Mum asked my aunt.

"No, not yet. She wanted to open and read it at the party today."

Mum poked her head over my shoulder, "Did you know that Aunt Mildred got a letter from the Queen?"

"What? Why?"

"When you turn one hundred years old, the Queen sends you a letter wishing you a happy birthday. It's a very special day. Not a lot of people live to be that old."

After the paper plates had sat empty for a while, some second-or-third cousin came around with a garbage bag to collect the rubbish. We heard a commotion in a corner of the community hall, followed by a drawn-out 'Haaaaaaaaappy birthday...' and everyone started singing along as two uncles carried over the biggest cake I'd ever seen to the table where all Aunt Mildred's gifts had been. The cake read in big letters 'Happy 100th Birthday Mildred!' and a candle in the shape of the number 100 was placed and lit on the edge of the cake. I joined my mum with her disposable camera over to the table and Aunt Mildred was walked over to the cake to blow out the candle.

People gathered round to get a picture with Aunt Mildred and wish her another happy birthday. My cousins surrounded the table like seagulls eyeing the cake. My great-uncle shouted out, "I think it's time for Mum to read her birthday letter from the Queen!" This was met with a lot of excited responses and I heard a voice nearby say, 'You'd better sit down, Aunty,' and I saw in that moment a golden opportunity. Everybody was there. All the cousins were watching. This would be so funny.

I spotted the chair behind the table and ran over to it, grabbing a hold of the chair back. Someone handed Aunt Mildred the envelope and she gripped it hard as if it were trying to escape. Once she had finally hobbled over, she noticed me and smiled. She turned around, and as she let herself fall, I yanked the chair out from under her and down she fell on her bum!

The family thought it best I not go to her funeral, and poor, old Aunt Mildred never got to open her letter from the Queen.