Ah, my birthday. Or more appropriately, my birth season.Birthdays in my family are not just a day -- they're a series of events. The actual day I was born just serves as a general suggestion for when activities and festivities should take place. For instance tonight, Rich took me to dinner at Baldwin's Station where we were married. Tomorrow night is dinner with some friends, I'll have lunch with my coworkers on Thursday, and then Friday night is out to dinner with the family.
For this year's birthday season Rich bought me tickets to see Les Miserables in D.C. It's our favorite musical and we're so glad to get to see it again.
(Care to do some birthday shopping? Visit My Wishlist.)
Incidentally, in case you're wondering about the above picture, it's my supposed birthday cake. Rich has been threatening me all day about having birthday fruit for me. If you know me at all, or if you understand the concept of dessert in the least, it's fair to say fruit and dessert DO NOT go together. (I make a very limited exception for the following: jelly donuts, chocolate covered strawberries, and raspberry filling in cake.)
So after we returned from our wonderful dinner (I had the crabcakes; he had the beef tenderloin) he beckoned me downstairs to my birthday surprise... grapefruit.
Don't worry -- the real cake appears below. It was demolished within seconds. (Those that know me and dessert also know I don't bother to chew. I merely inhale.)
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