My unusual date of birth has invited a lifetime of sympathetic sighs from strangers, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other day of the year
Every now and then, as I hand over my driver’s licence to check into a motel, register for a PCR test or call my bank to confirm that yes, the activity flagged as fraud was in fact my own embarrassing purchase, I disclose personal information that elicits a familiar tone of sympathy and amusement from perfect strangers.
I was born on the 25 December, a statistically uncommon cross I bear alongside Dido, Humphrey Bogart, the Veronicas and, according to Christian tradition, some guy called Jesus of Nazareth.
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