Last week was my 29th birthday. Or, as I kept telling my friends, “The first of many 29th birthdays to come.”
There wasn’t a big to-do because, frankly, I just wanted to hang out at a nice restaurant with my friends. I had a delicious Italian meal, topped off with Tiramisu for dessert. I was actually too stuffed to eat more than a bite of the Tiramisu, so it was boxed up and we sent it home with our roommate to put in the fridge, since we were going out to the bar and she was going straight home.
The next morning I was looking for the Tiramisu (anyone who says it’s not a breakfast food is just LYING — there’s totally, like, coffee in it.) But I discovered that it was not in our refrigerator. So I came to the logical conclusion that somewhere between the restaurant and our house, the Tiramisu met some Horrible Tragic Accident, and my roommate just had to put it out of its misery, a.k.a. eat it. (I haven’t asked her, but I’m sure she’d agree to that theory).
In other news, Chris and I bought a new couch for our living room. We were debating between two different styles, one which Chris really liked and one which I really liked.
Chris said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you get the couch you want, then I can get the new TV that I want.”
“Sold!”
Yeah, that’s pretty much a win-win situation for me. I get the couch I want and a new TV. Happy Birthday to me!
