Poor Mark

Someone told me once that even-numbered birthdays aren't as "difficult" as the odd-numbered ones. What they failed to mention is that by not being difficult they were also not as spotlighted.
And so it was, that Mark turned 38 and got so little fanfare and acknowledgement that he actually told someone after the fact that he was 37. Poor guy. (Although... I wonder if that is a legitimate trick - if you aren't recognized on your birthday, can you just not claim that you've had it? Hmmm....)
Anyway, he was a good sport about it. It being the fact that he was not sung to in bed in the morning, as custom goes; we weren't even awake when he left for work; he got a gift that Andrea had spilled the beans about a month earlier; I left him to babysit while I went to my dance class; and though I did manage to make him a birthday cake, I did not manage to frost it, so he didn't even get birthday cake until the next night.

Yeah, I think I'm going to have to make up for that next year.





See though? Good sport.