Today is my birthday.
I took the day off. I dropped Alfred and Xander off, came home, made a cup of forbidden coffee, and watched an episode of Torchwood in peace. Bliss.
Then I made phone calls to my insurance agent, the cleanup crew, and the furnace guy, because yesterday the dog freaked out during a thunderstorm, trapped herself in the bathroom, and during her panicked flailing managed to knock one of the sink taps on, whereupon the sink overflowed and continued to do so for three hours until someone came home. That someone being Alfred, who displayed great restraint and put the dog in the backyard, instead of clobbering her with something heavy and shoving her into traffic, which is what I would have done if I’d come home to ruined hardwood floors, a drenched basement, and water pouring out the side of my house.
So, you know, just like any other birthday.
(I may also be making a call to the proverbial Farm.)