Great signs and portents
When I got off the bus yesterday, I met David coming back to the apartment. “What are you doing out in the hot-hot?” I asked.
He looked abashed. “Buying things,” he said. “Um, things you don’t know about… okay?”
“Okay,” I said cheerfully, knowing how these things go.
“I think you’ve had a cake every year, even if it was only a store-bought one,” he mused as we came up to the door of our building.
“I don’t mind store-bought ones,” I reassured him. “Especially when it’s this hot.”
“Well, I don’t care if it’s hot,” he said stubbornly. Ah. Homemade cake, then. He’s so cute.
Something there is that does not love a 34-year-old librarian, because a half-hour after my birthday started an epic thunderstorm woke me up. What terrible upheaval this presages I know not—but I’ll manage one way or another.
In the meantime, the Goths are playing with the string of my birthday balloon. We shall have to get them balloons of their own when it’s their birthday.