All in all, I had a fabulous birthday, due in part to all the fab peeps who sent good wishes via The Wonder That Is My Blog. You iz gud peepul. Seriously.
The day started off very well, since Slayer allowed me to sleep in, and whilst I was sleeping, he taught the twins how to say Happy Birthday. There's nothing like having two sticky almost-two-year-olds launching themselves at you and shouting "Hacky burtday, Mommy!" at the top of their lungs. Son insisted on immediately singing the Billy Idol version of "Happy Birthday"; in other words, the song was loud and involved a lot of fist pumping.
And then there were the books. I got A Curse Dark as Gold by Elizabeth Bunce, Unwind by Neal Shusterman, Extras by Scott Westerfeld, and An Abundance of Katherines by John Green. Schwing! I've got surplus reading material for at least the next five minutes or so. I also got shoes and cooking implements. Not a Tit Obsessed Flamingo Sweater in sight. And then they took me out to eat so I wouldn't need to cook or clean on the wondrous day of my birth. Does Slayer treat me well or what?
So that's the good part. The bad part is that I have a horrendous cold, most of which is in my head and throat. I sound like I should work for a dwarven phone sex company. Son has an infected eye, probably from last week when he hit a tree with his face. He doesn't sound anything like a sexy dwarf, so don't even ask. You perv.
And then there's the weirdness, which is probably to be expected at any fete honoring yours truly. See, I had cajun shrimp as a part of my birthday eatables, and one of them attacked my eyeball. I took a bite and the damned thing squirted in an arc that rounded my cheek and landed square in my left eye. So there I am, crying tears of cayenne, when they bring the candle and start singing at me, and everyone in the restaurant was staring, probably thinking that I was an overemotional mom who happens to cry crimson tears. Luckily, one of my girls blew out the candle, because I couldn't see it through all the red.
All in all, it was a memorable birthday. About as memorable as year 19, in which I asked for a cherry cobbler instead of a cake. Mom couldn't get the candle to stand up in the cobbler so I ended up with a birthday meatloaf instead. Because really, shaped meat products just scream birthday celebration material, don't they?
Yes, I am blowing out the meatloaf. I even made a wish. Because wishing on cake is dumb; wishing on meatloaf makes much more sense.