I have always been a big birthday person. I’ve never shied away from the “Happy Birthday” song, or from cakes burning up (now) with candles. I was thrilled to turn 30. (Only partially because I still get mistaken for the intern.) Even this year, I took notice when my birthday was a month, and then a week, away.

Every birthday brings with it something unusual, but this year has been a standout. First, I missed my own party on Saturday night, due to food poisoning. (Thankfully Brian brought half of Erin’s Bailey’s ganache cake home, which I’ve happily eaten slices of every day since.) Then I voluntarily missed the monthly birthday party at work today, opting instead to start my leave (and to miss a day that would have been otherwise filled with meetings).

I’d long since planned to spend the day with my good friends the massage therapist and manicurist at my favorite day spa in Old Town. Those treatments were great on their own. The highlight of today came, though, when I went to pay and was told that the tab was already settled. I’d been away from work for less than 24 hours, but my friends there made sure I wouldn’t forget them when they treated me to my spa day. I walked out of the spa, a bit dazed, and called one of the coordinators/elves/angels.

I held back the tears yesterday, but they came flooding out as soon as Annie picked up the phone today, and I blubbered away, oblivious to the people casting strange looks in my direction in the middle of King Street’s packed sidewalks.

Their timing really couldn’t have been better, and thank you seems so inadequate. Like I said before, I’m so lucky.


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