Yes, it's my birthday. I love a birthday more than a mother loves her child. It leaves me extra toothy and excited. It's similar to that feeling the night before Christmas, and you're only eight. I've never grown out of that. The anticipation is the best part. Climbing the steep hill of the roller coaster is much better than actually going down it.

My mother took me to lunch and said, "Someone sent you flowers, but whoever sent them, they don't know you." And I said, "Ohh, that means there's like a conglomeration of flowers...and way more than two colors or types of flowers." Then on the way back from lunch, she said "I had fun on your birthday," to which I immediately replied, "It's still my birthday. You're not shorting me half the day. What are you thinking?"

I take full advantage of my day. Okay, my week, and sometimes the month if need be. And to think, when I was sixteen, I pictured 27 as "the age" to be. I hope it turns out to be a cool one.

So, that birthday turned out to be not-so-good. I will say the most exciting gift I got is what that cake is resting on. That's the Emily cake platter from Crate & Barrel. Though I have given that platter as a gift, I didn't own it. The past few times I've been in a Crate & Barrel, I would stare at that thing longingly, and then tell myself to just walk away.


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