I just had a birthday. I turned 41.
I know what you’re thinking: Did I go to Vegas? Did My Guy whisk me off to Paris? Or perhaps we just had an intimate gathering for 500 of our closest friends.
|This is a dramatic reenactment of the celebration.|
While these are obviously great guesses, the truth is far more glamorous. Here’s how my birthday went down.
1 week prior: I look through our Amazon orders in an attempt to reorder Lil’ Frankfurter’s specialty dog food. I spy an order … my birthday gift order. My Guy has ordered me a power washer.
You might think this is right up there with the Christmas my dad bought my mom a toilet seat. But no. I love power washing and have long desired my own power washer. Just think of all the things I could clean!
So, I kind of ruined my own birthday surprise. And my husband bought me yard equipment (because he says I can’t use the power washer inside the house – whatever). But I am delighted.
2 days prior: The power washer arrives. I try it out. It is all I ever hoped for. I realize this makes me either really sad or really secure in myself and happy with my life.
Birthday morning: My Guy lets the dogs out, and I find it strange that they don’t come back to bed. I realize my sweet husband shut them downstairs. This evidently was not to Big Doodle’s liking. I come downstairs to find that my 80-pound prince of a dog has peed not 1 but 2 oceans of pee to communicate his displeasure.
I spend 20 minutes and an entire roll of paper towels cleaning up the oceans and the splatter. Because when a tall dog pees, there is a splash issue.
I am somewhat crabby.
I check my email. I have received spam from Poise, urging me to upgrade my bladder protection. Poise pads – what every 41-year-old wants for her birthday!
Birthday day: I do laundry. I clean Big Doodle’s stinky, infected ear. I finish up 3 work projects. I am still in my workout clothes – without having actually worked out – when My Guy gets home from work.
Birthday evening: I change my clothes. We go out for dinner. I order a guava mai tai. I order this $8 drink because it’s my fucking birthday and I fucking deserve it.
This is adulthood. This is a birthday as an adult. I get a power washer (yay!) and an appeal for Poise pads (boo!) and I order a drink like a fucking lady (boom!).
The most upsetting thing is that I’m not that upset. This is actually just fine.