January 6

The holidays… Thanksgiving, Christmas, New year… and the Epiphany, (January 6) which happens to be the day I was born.
My friends like to celebrate that date by sharing a Galette des Rois, a flat cake made of two layers of puff pastry cradling a mixture of almond paste. It is pretty tasty.

I am humbled and flattered by the fact that, without knowing me personally, many people around the world have taken to honor me. But I look at this like St Patrick’s Day… many non-Irish people observe that day and I don’t see why we should object to that tradition.

I don’t know what started this cult. This phenomenon might have arisen when I first performed a few minor miracles. No big deal. Just a run of the mill stuff. But people are easily impressed. You win a little popularity contest at the ballot box and they think that you are born from Zeus’s thigh.

Nevertheless, a little moved by this veneration I recently checked my horoscope and this is what I found out. I quote:

“People often feel confident around you because they detect that you project an inner calm that is so reassuring. People believe that whatever advice you give is the right one.”

I never personally said this. A famous soothsayer wrote it and my modesty prevents me from making a big deal of this. But I have been told that this person is dependable and can clearly foresee the future…

So, feel free to party this weekend and mention my name as much as you wish. My ears might ring a little but I am accustomed to this. This is the (minor) price that you have to pay for being quasi-divine.

By the way, January 6 is also the birthday of Lyudmila Aleksandrovna Putina, (born 6 January 1958), the former wife of Vladimir Putin. She calls me once in a while to gossip.
I understand that even though they are divorced, Vladimir (Vovochka) still pays his respect and sends her a nice bouquet every year. Just like Lyudmila, on that day, I as well get some flowers from my disciples.

By sheer coincidence,

January 6, is also the day when some bearded men stopped in a manger to stare at a newborn baby called Jesus.


Warning: Anyone (regardless of his/her age) who stops laughing is one step closer to the Big Leap

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