I had a birthday last month. Twenty-six. I turned twenty-six. Not six, I promise. Twenty-six.
Jurassic World came out on my birthday, and I can’t tell you how excited I was. When Ethan asked what I wanted for my birthday, I told him I wanted dinosaurs and Funfetti frosting. And a cake, I guess – because the Funfetti had to go somewhere. So that’s what we did. We went to the movies, and I picked up a little souvenir poster and freaked out about it until the movie started. Then I freaked out about the movie. I kept squeezing Ethan’s hand and just grinning at him. Oh, dinosaurs. There were so many dinosaurs!
Then the next day, I made a cake with Funfetti frosting and little fishy sprinkles. We shared with friends, and the frosting – which more closely resembled blue Play-Doh than real food – turned our tongues blue. We competed for the bluest tongue. I felt like a little kid again.
Then earlier this week, I got a smallish package in the mail. Oh, good! I thought. That free book I won on Goodreads.
Nope. It was a postcard from the Trix rabbit. I filled out a “Happy Birthday” postcard for the Trix rabbit a few months ago, because I found it on a cereal box, and I thought the Trix rabbit really ought to have a good birthday. Plus, it said he’d send me free stuff.
And he did! He sent me a note, a red spoon, and three temporary tattoos. I’m currently sporting one of them. I did not mention, in my postcard, that I am in my mid-twenties. I figure the Trix rabbit probably doesn’t judge, anyway. ♥