I love my birthday. I will never fear it, or loathe it. It’s my day, and I will always revel in that. I also like surprises, however I also hate them. I love that someone is putting the effort in making me happy, and they’re putting the extra effort in so that I don’t know in advance. I can’t stand not knowing. I try to play detective. While being driven south on the 5 once with Milca, who was taking me to some surprise location, we were coming up on Disneyland, and she starting moving to the right. We passed all the exits, only to switch lanes again to go to the left. My wife taunts my pain, which is what I’d do, of course, so I hold no grudge.
Milca let on that she’s taking me somewhere for my birthday. Last year she threw a huge surprise bday party, which I had no clue about, which went over splendidly. This year is likely to be a bit more low key, but I’m holding out for some sort of amusement park or some sort of dorkery. Of course, something tells me that it might be something where we go out in to the wilderness…
and so the insanity begins. 16 days and counting…