Let There Be Cake

My birthday started out on the perfect note: my fit friend came by in the morning to take a walk with me (because my FitBit takes no vacations, apparently) and handed me a gift. "Excuse the bag," she said. "I would have run late if I tried to find one that was appropriate for the occasion."

No wonder we get along...

I like my friends.

Larry and the kids gave me a new IPad, which I totally wasn't expecting, even though the one I inherited from my Dad (from 2012) takes forever to open up now, to the point where we had sort of given up on using it much. This one is also lighter and therefore easier on my wrists, but it still feels very extravagant. In fact, this particular purchase makes me wonder whether Larry has any household renovation plans up his sleeve.

Or maybe it was just to make up for the fact that Larry also gave me the As Seen On TV Veggetti.

Hey, it's not a bagel slicer

Granted, this item did happen to be on my Amazon list, but only because I thought I might pick it up as a fun thing for the girls to use in the kitchen some time. As we all know, however, Larry has never seen a goofy kitchen item that he doesn't think would make a great birthday gift for his wife. So I own this thing now and I guess I have no one to blame but myself.

I then made the questionable decision to go to the mall to search for my Holy Grail, aka shirts that fit. I confess, I started feeling a little agitated as I approached the tiny petites section in J.C. Penney to which we height-challenged women are confined. Considering that half the petites section was devoted to the fashion abominations that are Worthington and Alfred Dunner clothing, my selection was pretty limited. And taking into account that, due to an outsize bust and a generously sized post-menopausal belly, I am difficult to fit, my choices were even more constrained.

Meaning that, after half an hour of searching through the clothing racks for something decent to wear, I was simultaneously weepy and irritated. I'm not sure, but I think I was muttering things like, "Sure, I'll just go NAKED" and "F... you, Alfred Dunner and your elastic-waist pants" loudly enough for other shoppers to hear. I started imagining the next day's headlines: Midget Woman, Laughing Maniacally, Sets Store Ablaze.

So I left, before my birthday could be completely ruined. I headed over to Macy's which, if possible,had an even smaller selection of clothing for short, over-endowed gals like myself. But, miracle of miracles, I managed to find a few shirts that fit AND were reasonably priced. Purchases in hand, I put aside my thoughts of arson and headed home, where the girls had spent the afternoon working on my birthday cake.

I defy you to find a more beautiful cake. Because there is none. This is the king (queen?) of all birthday cakes. End of story.

But my family's obvious love and devotion (as evidenced by the cake pictured above and Larry's Vegetti purchase) were not enough to deter me from attending Knit Night on my birthday. There I was feted with Fritos and new stitch markers by a whole bunch of women who wanted to know if Larry had bought me another bagel slicer, and really, what more could any girl want?

It was a perfect birthday. I mean, except for that Alfred Dunner thing...