Come On Party People, Put Your Hands in the Air

Today it’s my birthday. To help me celebrate, a few of my COWW girl friends (remind me to tell you about them sometime) are dropping by this afternoon to help me ingest a mess (mess being the operative word, here) of cupcakes I made last night. I’m sure there will be wine. And also cheese; there always has to be cheese. But mostly, the afternoon will be about the cupcakes.

Because:

A. I love to bake.

B. I am compelled to prove, if to no one but myself, that contrary to certain output, mini chocolate cakes baked at 7,500 feet in the chihuahuan desert can actually be moist and scrumptious. And if they aren’t, I expect my COWWgirls to be true friends and lie to me. Because it’s my birthday.

Unfortunately, S.B. is missing in action. He’s on a job site doing all sorts of Important Things to ensure the Free World As We Know It will be able to wake up tomorrow morning and run their hairdryers. I swear, I'm impressed all over again whenever I stop to think just how imperative he is to the well-run machine that is the Greater Scheme of Things. But I do suspect that he's thinking of me.

And of just how tres chic I look in his birthday present:


What? I can believe what I want. It's my birthday.

At any rate, this day I plan, once again, to be the girl with the most cake. And some day, you will ache like I ache. Because, like me, you will have insisted on eating the entire gosh darn thing.