Wasn't so crappy after all & Happy Friday!

Happy Friday all!

A hasty sketch & ink office-special. He needs to be
redone with greater care. Lord Fox.

I had a wonderful birthday; almost flawless—the first one I can think of that was so romantic and intimate. My co-workers took me to lunch as promised at my very favourite Sushi-joint (I love how fresh their food is and I’m addicted to their Florida roll), it’s SOOOooooo good. I pigged out; we shared a Florida roll, of which I had the lion’s share because I’m a savage—and I had the bento I love so much with sushi. The restaurant knows me pretty well, there was a time when I would eat there twice a week sometimes, and so when they found out it was my birthday, they played the birthday music and the whole restaurant broke into song while the server brought me a ball of green-tea ice-cream with a candle in it.

My coworkers were sweet and thoughtful. They treated, and we ate until we were so full we could barely breathe. Back at the office, they presented me with a balloon and some begonias, and a card and a badly sung rendition of Happy Birthday.

I then drove home after work to discover my husband waiting for me inside the back door holding a package. A little backstory here, everyone knows I love the American Duchess’s Pemberly shoes. I’ve wanted them from the moment she released the first design concepts, but since we are always in a financial pinch, there’s no way I could justify the expenditure, not to mention explain to a husband who has little to no patience for my expensive costuming hobby, why I reallyreallyreally want this shoes. So when the American Duchess posted an announcement of having some ‘imperfect’ shoes for sale, I thought, hey, maybe he’ll let me get at least imperfect ones for my birthday. I sent him a link, to which he did not respond, so I was pretty sure he probably rolled his eyes upon receiving it and promptly deleted the email.

So excited, I took them with me into the car to
admire them on the way to the restaurant.

To my surprise, when I came into the house, I saw in his hand a rather clumsily-wrapped box suspiciously sized similarly to a shoebox, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I smooched him and grabbed my present, excited to have something to open on my birthday (another rarity). I tore it open and it was still in the shipping box, but when I saw the shipper’s name on the tag I started squeeing like an idiot. I tore it open and pulled out the pemberlies, my eyes glistening with tears.

He then informed me that these were not the ‘imperfects’ but the ‘perfect’ shoes as he watched me turn them and examine them for flaws. More squees ensued, and in spite of being almost late for our dinner date, I insisted on clickety-clacking around the house in them like an idiot just to see how disgustingly comfortable they are. For anyone who knows how English Country Dance can take a toll on one’s feet because of the flats we wear, you would surely appreciate the comfort of these shoes. They’re AWESOME! I’m so excited. I just ordered leather paints for them.

Anyway, we went to my other favourite restaurant; the Rendezvous Grill, it’s a local place we go to for most of our special occasions, they have really great food and you can go in a pair of jeans and it’s okay. Dan walked right into the dining area instead of waiting for seating, and brought me to a table with a reserved plaque on it, and a vase of pink roses and pale yellow carnations. Apparently he’d stopped by the restaurant ahead of time to drop off the flowers so they would be on the table when I got there. Aw!

Yes, my cellphone camera is a joke.

It was a delicious dinner. And yes, I had my snails; don’t yuck my yum. Escargots have been a favourite of mine since I was very little. In fact, one of my favourite treats when I was little was whelk sea snails that were cooked in a super-peppery broth. You could only get them in certain spots, but they were SO good. We also ate periwinkles; they’d serve them to you in a paper cone, just like fries, and they were yummy as hell, if not challenging to wrench their tiny, coiled bodies from their shells using the pin or toothpick sold with the cooked critters. Don’t wrinkle your nose at that! I’m pretty sure wherever you live there’s something *I* would consider gross; but I’d try it before I said yay or nay, and I wouldn’t go: EWWWW! (There are some small exceptions; when it’s insects, eyeballs, testicles, or anything worm or grub-like, I’ll pass). It’s my way. It’s all about culture. Suck it up!

I topped my meal off with a piece of cake with chocolate, mascarpone and drizzles of Grand Marnier (why is that SO good with chocolate? It’s evil). Anyway, the whole evening was nice (save for one hiccup that was completely unnecessary but happened anyway; I merely shoved my grumpiness about it until the next day. Days like Wednesday was are so rare, I wasn’t going to let something smirch it for me) and I went home glowing with happiness. Best. Birthday. Ever.

Un p'tit morceau de gateau. :)

Birthdays are the only day that’s truly yours. Holidays are about family, weddings about everyone else BUT you, even if you think otherwise, but birthdays, that’s different. I used to think I was selfish to expect to feel welcome and special on the day that marks my birth, but I have come to realize there’s nothing selfish about that at all, and anyone should be able to spend their birthday in a way that makes them happy to be alive. It’s the whole point of celebrating it. There are always forces out there that willfully or unknowingly choose to do things to make you feel less than happy, which sucks. For me, that has unfortunately been the case more often than not—so when days like Wednesday happen, I hold onto them tightly. I do love my husband. But more so for his attention to the details that mattered so much, the expensive shoes I wanted badly but really did not need; the flowers on the table; his smile when I saw my gift.

Satan called but only to get my sister’s number. My eldest sister is out of the country so she didn’t call, and my brother and his family are too wrapped up in their own crisis to think of it. My middle sister, Helen called and sang me the ‘zoo’ version of the birthday song, which I punctuated with a couple of monkey ‘oohs’ when she finished singing. LOL. Satan felt bad and shoved some cash into my hand yesterday, ordering me to buy new riding jods because my old ones are falling off my butt. “Joo look layke a homeless woomahn,” she said.

She’s coming up tomorrow, I’m making mussels Belgian-style. I’m not sure about fries though. Maybe some baked ones, not sure. Then I’d like to focus on fixing and finishing up the bodice for my habit—which will require me to measure out and cut sleeves, which his always fun.

Oh, and I forgot--the fox drawing reminds me... Someone asked me recently if I knew what that screaming noise was in P&P '95 I think during an outdoor take looking at one of the great houses, maybe Pemberly, could be Netherfield, who knows... but the answer is a that is a red fox screaming.  It's a haunting, skin-crawling sound that upon my visits to the UK as a child to see my two best friends, would scare the bejeezus out of me.

Anyway, that’s it for this lovely Friday.