This weekend, my husband arranged for some of my closest friends to join me to celebrate my 30th birthday, along with a fellow January baby who is one of my lovliest ladies. Now, if you have basic arithmetic skills, you may know that my birthday in a week is actually my 34th, which I'm not ashamed or embarrassed to admit, since I take great pride in my age and the experience I have gathered. But my 30th birthday was a non-event, despite people in my life who perhaps should have made it a bigger deal, and the promises of others to make up for it were part of a series of bad choices they made. It's not a tragedy, the missing of a milestone birthday, and the broken promises associated with them are minor. But my husband knows all of this, the result of being my friend for many years through multiple relationships. He knows that one of the recurring problems in past relationships was promises made in earnest and then forgotten. He inherited a legacy that he's decided to correct, rather than take the easier and entirely justified route of that being the past and decidedly not his problem.
So we had a 30th birthday. My girls came in, plus a few local friends, and we went to The Shakespeare Tavern and saw As You Like It, a show I hadn't seen. It was incredible - the cast was fantastic, the food was good, and the company was incredible. It was everything I could have wanted from my 30th birthday - someone who cares about me took the effort to arrange for women to come in from different states so I could have a weekend with some of the most important people in the world to me. I couldn't have asked for more than that.
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