Like any other person born on Christmas, I am cursed with the unfortunate reality that my birthday will never really be a great event. At least, that's how it had been most other years.

Past boyfriends had always struggled with the standard Birthday/Christmas questions...

"Do I spend the evening with her?"
Generally he concludes that it would be better to suffer my wrath than the unforgiving fury of his mother for not helping to pass the mince pies to awaiting aunts and uncles.

"What do I buy her?"
Honestly...the whole trick of 'artfully' combining Christmas and Birthday presents so it looks as though it's one grand and impressive present...does simply not work. It really does just look like one unimpressive mediocre present. That's wrapped in Christmas paper.

"Where do I take her?"
One time my family tried to plan a birthday dinner for me...my mother thought that surely a chain such as Lone Star would be open - she even rang and confirmed that they were. But lo, Christmas night we dressed in our finest, drove to Lone Star...only to find out that they were in fact closed. Not even Lone Star opens Christmas night. They even lied about it.

Needless to say my birthday usually consisted of tagging along to someone else's family event (given that I had no aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents etc) or, in my older (and wiser) years, getting drunk with my gay friend James (because in all fairness, for the last couple years I had no serious boyfriend and thus could not, with any clear conscience, blame one for not making my birthday night special and exciting).

But then Demis came into my life.

OK so not as simply as that - but reasonably so. After realising I was a little tired of the countless dates and late nights with dashingly empty and wrong men - I began to wish there was my equal somewhere...that mythical 'soul mate'. So there I found him (perhaps not in the most conventional way) and we began the desperately long emails and telephone conversation to each other three times a day, which of course led me to madly flying to Germany where he was touring so that I could...well meet him...and then after spending two glorious weeks together, I flew back to Sydney...whereby two months later he resigned from his 'rock-star' world in order to come and live happily ever after in Sydney with me.

Where was I? Right...so as December approached I was filled with pure female hope and excitement...there would be no more left over pork for this girl's birthday meal.

Demis spent days making phone calls and searching online to find the perfect place to take me on my birthday. He looked into every type of edible variation and location...refused any form of assistance...and quite seriously thought of nothing else for that whole month.

But here's the thing...no matter how much one searches, the inevitable truth remains. My birthday lands on one of the world's most celebrated public holiday, and as such, most establishments are closed.

My birthday came and I was spoilt rotten (Christmas AND Birthday presents galore!). We spent the day feasting on seafood with my family and for dinner we went to one of the only non-stereotyped restaurants open - Amo Roma on George Street in The Rocks.

It was a large three level Italian Restaurant which managed to make you feel quaint regardless of where you sat. And although the tables had their number as part of their design, and the waiters were all non-Italian foreigners who took half an hour to make a mojito (though they were very polite)...I still ate the god-damn best Margarita pizza in the world.

But whether that was due to the superb talents of the chef, or the fact that I was perfectly content and in love...I can't tell you. Over our pizzas we celebrated my Birthday and recounted the events of the day...and while I know Demis was doubting if it really was the best he could do...I know for sure it was...because sometimes the best meal you will ever eat, is the one you're eating when you realise what it means to be eating it.