It is my birthday, and I am at work.

I don’t think I’ve ever been at work on my birthday before, except in 2001. My wife (then girlfriend) had flowers sent to the office. And I caught the young ladies of the suite reading the card when I got back from a smoke-break. Evidently, there was speculation of some sort about whether I was single, gay, how old I was, etc. No one believed I was “only” 22, and I was insulted for some reason. The whole “you’ve been with the same girl for how long?” thing was also insulting, as if three years meant something that everyone understood but me. Playing the field? No thanks. I wonder what some of them would say if I told them that we’re married now, with a beautiful daughter.

Today, I am 31, have a wonderful wife and daughter and really don’t care about my age anymore (remind me I said that if I’m still blogging when I turn 40 in 2019).