The Curse is Broken

For some reason, "celebrating my birthday" in Arkansas has been an oxymoron. The first year we were here, living in the Hollyhock House, Robb forgot which day my birthday was. Note the careful wording of that sentence....it's part of the agreement. The year after that, I got the flu and hoped I might just die and be done with it. Last year, I remember vaguely dragging around in my bathrobe and fat-girl pants, trying to decide if it really was time to try anti-depressants...and it turns out...it REALLY WAS. This year, Robb took on the challenge. He was going to make it FUN. As usual, I had no idea what the plan was...I just follow the directions of what to wear and when to be ready.

In this case, I was to wear casual clothes. Hmmmm....no sexy shoes or (freezing cold) little black dress? OK! I was guessing ice-skating. We drove by the rink....and I took off the gloves I threw on, just in case.

"What's the theme of the night?" Robb asks me in his best cheer-leading voice.
"The theme of the night is FUN!" I shout back, as we pull into Fast Lanes...go-karts, black-light bowling, and arcade games.

It was an absolute blast. This is a more grown up rendition, with a full bar and grille. They brought our pizza and beer, and I crushed my husband with my keen bowling skills. I won't mention the final scores on air hockey, ski-ball and Ms. Packman. We earned enough to tickets to get the kids little pieces of junk (but not enough for the lip-gloss I so desperately needed!) We extended the evening with a stop for coffee and dessert before heading home to fall deeply, deliciously asleep while watching The Soup.

Yeah. The curse is broken. Birthdays are back on.