My birthday must mean more to me than I thought?

I’ll be blunt and say I’m not a huge birthday person. Those MTV “Sweet 16” shows? Compleeetely not my style! I’m a great deal more like my father; I like something quiet with the people I’m closest to. I don’t need a blowout party, but some sort of recognition is nice.

A few days ago my boyfriend and I were talking about birthday plans and a deer-in-the-headlights look hit his face. He had made plans on my birthday. (OOPS.) And then,  to top it off, he recalled today that he’s going to be out of town on a trip. (Sigh.)

To his credit, Mr. Wonderful is doing his best to make it up to me; we’re going to be celebrating the weekend before … he says … then the day of we’re attending a murder mystery party (which he secured me an invite to… a party! … yay… the introvert extends her deep thanks…), and then he’s leaving late for spiritual retreat the next day.

I thought my birthday didn’t mean that much to me, but I guess it means more than I thought it did! As I continue to do this thing called growing up, I realize how very much like my dad I am (more on this later).

This is the second birthday of my life without my twin. Sad, sad day.

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