Death by cupcake

It’s a dreary day here in New York City, cloudy and gray like my mood. I’ve just returned from my annual visit to the accountant to file my taxes, which means I’m almost another year older and two years closer to 40! When did I get so old? Sadly, my birthday has always been associated with tax day. I always hear people belly-aching if their birthday is too close to Christmas or Chanukah because they only get one present. Well boo-f*cking-hoo, be happy you’re getting one. People are either too stressed out to even think of partying on my birthday or they just plain forget. Yes, even my parents forgot my birthday one year and didn’t remember until a week later. Whatever, birthdays aren’t really even that high on my importance scale, it’s really just another day closer to death. Wow - OK, that was morbidly sarcastic even for me. Shake it off. At least I’m getting a decent return this year, though not as impressive as past years since I’m actually making a decent living wage for a change. And I did use this occasion as an excuse to buy a box of cupcakes from Buttercup Bakeshop so my co-workers and I could all experience the sugar crash together mid-afternoon. Although today Trish and I were supposed to start detoxing from our weekend of stress binging. I guess we’ll start tomorrow.