Birthday man

My parents invented 'the birthday man'. He wasn't quite as good as Santa Claus but just as invisible. If I'd been a good girl he'd pay a visit while I was sleeping on my birthday eve and leave presents at the end of my bed. In my head he was quite tall and wore a suit. He was a cross between Marty from Randal and Hopkirk: Deceased and my dad but he scared me. I was never that comfortable about the idea of the birthday man. There was a tense moment a few days after my fifth birthday when I thought he might return and give me a stern telling off. I'd had this birthday cake (called the crinoline lady) which was supposed to look like a lady in a big pink skirt. The skirt bit was made of cake and a white figurine of the woman's head and bust was perched atop. After my McDonalds birthday party the giant skirt got cut into oblong pieces and was handed out to friends and family all wrapped up in kitchen roll, but I got to keep the white busty woman. I put her on my windowsill but I thought she was made of cake so a few days later I got a bit peckish and decided to have a nibble of her hat. I quickly realised that it definitely didn't taste of cake and now there was a little chip in the hat. I panicked and thought if the birthday man had anything to do with it he'd interrogate me and take back all my presents. I spent a couple of days after that walking into my bedroom with my eyes squeezed shut. He let me off the hook though. Thanks birthday man.