I’m thirty-two today, which means I intend to spend the day as if were five: doing exactly as I please and indulging every single whim* (Maybe I’ll even throw a temper tantrum at the grocery store!). Like that’s ssssoooooooooo different from every other day—but on my birthday I get to pretend I’ve achieved the maturity level that should be commensurate with my advancing age.
Now, time to go be counterproductive—on a Monday, no less!
Yee haw!
*Among said whims is the nearly overpowering desire to vacuum today. Is this pathological?
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