Good morning, internets. This year I got you some wild flowers.
My coworkers, being both lazy and not very good at keeping details straight, decided to recycle the half dozen Mylar birthday balloons gifted to our accounting manager on her birthday at the beginning of the month by taping them to my cubicle walls. This is pretty annoying, but they got bent out of shape when I took a scissors to the one they had tied to my monitor so I left them up.
Towards the end of the week one of the girls across the way in another department asked when my actual birthday was and how old I was going to be. “This next Monday,” I said, “and…thirty-two?” I scratched my head. I can’t keep track of these things. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Thirty-two.” I shrugged.
“Cool. I’m turning thirty-one in a few weeks.”
“Oh, sweet! Stop by my desk later, I’ll give you some pro tips. I’m pretty good at this thirty-one thing.” And you know, I guess I am, though this is more by accident than design. It’s been a pretty good year.
Anyway, here I go around the sun again. Thirty two, here’s looking at you.