Sarah's birthday has somehow turned into an entire birthweek, what with everyone vying to show their friendly colours. Birthday coffee, and birthday gifting, birthday dining, birthday drinking, birthday dancing, birthday emails, birthday ecards, birthday texts, birthday sex, and then, of course, belated birthday breakfast.
Friday night was spent elbow deep in cookie dough and muffin gunk.
Saturday, a small, humble, albeit hungry crowd piled into my small, humble yet accommodating apartment, and waited to surprise the birthday girl with one last birthday revelry.
Consumed at leisure were croissants, tea, apple torts a la Moskal, champagne, champagne, champagne, and pastries from Sobey's that Genna "handpicked herself!"
How will we ever top this next year?
2 comments:
that is a fantastic pic of merrill with that dish cloth. looooove it!
the amateurish woman writer, instead of regarding words as interpersonal communication, a means of appealing to others, considers them to be the direct revelation of her own feeling; it seems to her that to choose, to erase, is to repudiate a part of herself; she does not want to sacrifice any of her words, at once because she is pleased with what she is and because she has no hope of becoming anything else. her sterile vanity comes from the fact that she is very fond of herself without daring to analyze herself.
simone de beauvoir
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