... is pretty much what I say every year to Mr. J when he would just as soon let the 8th of November pass without fanfare.
But birthdays? Are not ignored in my world.
I don't care how old you are, Mr. J; and I sure don't care how broke we are, 'cause I don't need money to make a fuss. I only care enough to never have anyone sing to you in a cheesy restaurant, and to never (never, I promise!) throw you a surprise party.
And that's only because I expect the same in return. The only cheesy singing on my (oh, and yours, too) birthday shall be done by me. And the only surprising on my birthday shall be done by you. We agree on that.
But that's it.
I will never ignore a birthday (I might forget, but that's a whole other story), because I am exponentially cheesetastic like that. I will never stop being grateful that one day in November, 1962, you happened. I may have taken another six years to show up, and then another 29 to find you, but none of that's important.
It was always meant to be.
What's that? Er, no.
No. It's not easy being this cheesy.
Below, birthday happiness 2009:
Nom, nom, nom ...
One dozen little cups of happy.
Caramel apple and chocolate peanut butter.
The black bottom, a brilliant concoction of dark chocolate cake with chocolate chip cheesecake and cream cheese frosting.
Nurse Tilly, asking for the 4,782nd time, "Why? Why can't I have a little happy cake of joy?"
Why? Because you can't have chocolate. And there'd be fewer for me. But mostly the chocolate reason. Really.
Thank you, Cupcake, for coming to Columbia. And thank you, anonymous college girl (ACG) working at Cupcake for your validation when I picked these out.
ACG (smiling): "Are these for a special occasion?"
ME (drooling): "Yes, they are. My husband made me promise not to get him anything for his birthday, and this is the anything I'm getting anyway."
ACG (seriously): "Ma'am, you did the right thing."
Yes, I did, ACG.