Remember when you were little, and birthday parties were everything?  Invitations could make or break friendships, they could be used as threats, they could be used to make your friend drink a ketchup, pepper, water concoction you just made at the lunch table in 3rd grade.  As in, “you better drink this, or you won’t be invited to my birthday party!!”  Oh the memories.  My strong aversion to Tabasco suddenly makes so much sense.

Every single component of the goody bag was agonized over, forcing your Mom to spend an unnecessary amount of money on those sets of Jacks for everyone. Your outfit was picked out weeks in advance, the venue booked months in advance, and it always ended up being the best. day. ever. Planning for the next year started the day after the party.

These days, birthdays seem to be a little less about the goody bag, and a little more about the tequila people.   Some of my galpals can’t be in the city for Saturday night, so we planned to do a small birthday dinner at Carrie’s.  We drank margaritas, ate tacos, and talked about the good old college days.  Any Fordham people reading, it’s SPRING WEEKEND.  Makes my heart ache. There also may have also been a group song break-out to “I Hope You Dance.”

It was such a perfect evening, hanging with all the right people who make me laugh.  I didn’t even even miss the party game tokens or the goody bags.

(I make a really pretty wishing face.)

(Carrie makes really pretty cake.)

As if my night wasn’t perfect enough, I woke up to this on the floor outside my door:

Thanks little Kathy.

I have the some good friends.  And I didn’t even have to drink Tabasco to keep them around.

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