On the way home…
My dad, stepmom, and sister had me over for the best birthday-dinner. (The best birthday-dinner consists of hamburgers and french fries, if on the inside, you’re still twelve—ish—which I am.) You’ll just have to take my word that these family members exist, since they wouldn’t like having their photos posted here—or anywhere, I think—whenever we visit Cracker Barrel, my stepmom takes a few minutes to feel sorry for the poor unsuspecting souls whose photos ended up on the walls there. (Note to self: Do not honor your stepmother by putting her photo on the wall of the local Cracker Barrel.)
This Baskin-Robbins chocolate-mint ice cream with chocolate cake has been my favorite for forty years now—everybody else in my family says they’re a little tired of it, but I’m not . . . and it’s my birthday week! (I’m told the question mark candle was chosen to prevent the small house fire that forty candles were sure to start—safety first, friends.)
Other thoughtful birthday gifts, flowers, and cards arrived all week long!
And finally, Sunday brunch with girlfriends wrapped up my birthday week perfectly!
Yes, I highly, highlyrecommend using The Magic Words! Unfortunately, you have to wait until the week of your birthday. Otherwise, when you say to your people, “It’s my birthday week!” they—predictably (eyeroll)—respond, “No it isn’t.” Which is pretty rude if you ask me, but . . . well, either wait for your birthday or get some new people. Every week.
As for me, here’s what I’m thinking right this very moment: 51 weeks until my birthday week!
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