"What are you doing?" I asked him groggily.
"I just have to...check on something," he said. "Go back to sleep."
"Did you hear a noise?"
"No, it's fine. Go back to sleep."
"What if it's a robber?"
"Just go back to sleep." He approached the bed and tucked me in tighter. "Close your eyes..." he said creepily.
Suddenly my eyes sprang open. "You're not the real Chris!" It was an imposter, or possibly an alien abduction trying to get me to go to sleep so they could wreak further shenanigans on my house. (Can you wreak shenanigans? I feel like Chris wreaks shenanigans daily.)
Anyway, clearly I was already half asleep, so I did as I was told, and the next morning I woke up to a giant mylar cupcake balloon in my bedroom, which is what Chris had been doing in the middle of the night. I apologized for calling him not the real Chris, and enjoyed my balloon, which was accompanied by candy bars and a card that had a concerned animal on it, my favorite.
For those of you wanting to see a photo of my closet, here you go.
He fears for his life.
No photographic evidence of the candy bars exists because I promptly ate them.
Usually I hate my birthday because I end up crying myself to sleep lamenting the passage of time, the twilight of my youth, etc. This year, I took the bull by the balls and arranged a wine-fueled extravaganza in my own honor, and I ended up not crying at all, despite the fact that it was my party and I could have if I wanted to. We went to The Ruby Tap, an adorable wine bar with wine on tap that you could sample in small doses. I called it the wine vending machine, aka the best vending machine idea ever. I fully admit that I liked the place solely because of the novelty of drinking wine from a machine.
Oh, there was also fancy charcuterie (not pronounced char-COOTER-ie) that I indulged in because I'm 25 now so I need to enjoy grownup pursuits such as cured meats and honey mustard.
And despite my fear that "rainbow party" become one of the search terms used to find my blog, well, we had a rainbow party.
The next night, dear ol' Chris took me out for a fancy dinner at Harbor House, because he knows that one of my favorite pasttimes is pretending to be rich. We went all out and ordered mussels, filet mignon, prawns (which are just shrimp that still have faces), and TWO desserts. And I had prosecco too, which I may not have pronounced correctly. The waitress didn't correct me though, because she's paid to make me feel good about myself.
Photo via OnMilwaukee
It was voted best view of the city by other rich people who can afford to drink prosecco on the premises.
I also enjoy the novelty of digging food out of shells before I eat it, especially at places that provide a designated miniature fork for the endeavor.
My husband is a dashing son-of-a-bitch. We didn't get a photo of me, but just imagine someone who looks fresh to death and you'll get the picture.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to start crying because it has finally hit me that I am too old to try out for The Real World.
Does anyone else cry about the twilight of their youth on their birthday? What's the best birthday you've ever had? Ever been to a wine-on-tap bar? You should.