Gifts, a card, and a cake.
A cake from a fine bakery in Chinatown.
It was indeed a truly lovely cake, a wonderful cake!
No, not quite an epic cake. Cake is seldom epic by itself, it's the people around the cake are that could make it so. But cake is such a nice thing to have, and there are some fifty-five year old men who do not get cake. One remembers Milton, from Office Space, who was always last in line for cake. I sometimes feel like that, but then I clench my red Swingline stapler, and tell myself that I can always burn this place down and take my travellers' checks elsewhere. Staplers are a profound comfort.
Other than one piece which she ate, I had the whole thing.
I really do like cake. Cake is such a happy word.
Cake, cake, cake, cake, cake, cake!
Found this image courtesy of George Takei.
Those are two epically happy otters.
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