I passed a traumatic milestone birthday in August. There were no celebrations. I didn’t mention it to anyone at work. I told my friends not to give me gifts. I accepted this new stage of life with grace, humor, and humility. 

Or not. And then I ordered more skin cream from Instagram advertisements. 

On the night of the bad day, Steve, Ian, and I went out to dinner at an Italian place. After some pasta and red wine, they dudes had a birthday cake for me in our kitchen. I blew out the candles. 

Ian announced, “Am I the only one who bought you a gift?”

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