I was talking to a friend at work today about my impending doom . . . I mean, 30th birthday. He informed that 30 is no big deal. The real freak out age -- the one where you say, "Omigosh, what have I got to show for my years on this earth. I am going to keel over dead some day, in fact, it could be any day now. I better get on the ball and write that great American novel everyone is always talking about or paint that masterpiece that will hang next to the Mona Lisa or at the very least learn how to balance my checkbook" -- that age is 31.
Today is my husband's 31st birthday. Happy Birthday, Sweetie!
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