Tomorrow marks the beginning of my 36th year on this planet. My husband is giving me a birthday week of posts. My actual birthday week started with two of my dearest friends flying from San Francisco to spend the weekend with us in Los Angeles, and will end with me in Vegas standing up at another friend's wedding.
In between, I've been doing what I've been doing for the past two weeks: chaining myself to the computer for hours on end and tap-tap-tapping away at the keyboard. Every day I have a I should blog that moment, but I decide to do something crazy like eat or shower or put on pants instead.
And in a moment that indicates that I truly am a year closer to donning the old-lady turban (a not-so-secret-secret: I already have a turban ready and waiting) I neglected to notice that ,y birthday falls on a Wednesday, so I will be peeling my 36-year-old self out from between the cool sheets at 4:45am because I have to open the gym.
Whoops.
As I was getting ready for bed, Will told me he was going to watch the Hitler, which is code for he's going to fix himself a drink and watch WWII documentaries. If they're a fascist, they've spent time on our Tivo.
(I should probably mention, as I do every time, that my husband is not a fan of the Fascists. Or the Hitler. He just is interested in history.)
Will: I'm going to watch the Hitler. Happy early birthday!
Me: Y'know, if Hitler had been a little bit better at his job, I wouldn't be here .Y'know, snce my family was invited to stay at those summer camps he ran.
Will: Aaaand you just ruined the Hitler.
