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.
Happy Birthday! I turned 56 yesterday. It's fine. I got a tiki cocktail, a nice dinner, and a bottle of fine wine. I was satisfied.
Happy Birthday! Minus the dog pee and Poise pads it sounds like a pretty good day. Also, I'm coveting your power washer! I turn cough 35 cough next month (and having myself a good ol' midlife crisis to boot) and I might just ask for a power washer!
Happy Birthday! I hear power washers are life changing. (For reals!)
Happy birthday, yes you do get good drinks. I go Manhattan and he drives.
Welcome to 41. After 40, we have all the good chocolate we want — and drinks, too. If you don't get a good drink on your birthday, when else? (Answer? Every day after turning 41.)
Too bad that power washer couldn't be used inside…
The Ocean of Urine aside, sounds like it was mostly good. A fancy drink, a fancy new toy, contentment.
I'm with Karen, pity you couldn't power wash the inside.