Czech: Happy birthday to you. Or, more literally, All the best on your birthday.
Today is my birthday. I’m 33. I am on the East coast and he’s home on the West Coast. I’m kind of hoping he’ll think of me, do something romantic… like, oh, I don’t know… maybe a surprise delivery of flowers. At the very least, a card in the mail, on time?
Under normal circumstances I’m not a flowers kind of girl. But lately I’ve been wanting a little concerted effort in the romance department. And, for lack of any better ideas on my part, flowers will suffice.
I’ve realized that I have very few photos of me on any birthdays after the age of… twelve? I wish I had pictures from my 30th, but I don’t.
But I DO have pictures from my 31st, two years ago, in Prague. Also a lovely birthday – the girls and I went out to one of my favorite cafes, Cafe Savoy, for wine and cake:
I only had a couple glasses of wine, but it’s amazing how quickly I get close to drunk these days. I love Cafe Savoy. I love Cafe Savoy cake. I love the Savoy Latte. What you won’t see here is the picture of me with my tongue stuck to the plate, licking up the dropky. That’s “crumbs” to you English speaking folk.
I love Cafe Savoy for the art deco and atmosphere, as well as their latte – I will surely spend an afternoon there in March.
I was happy, surrounded by friend, and more than a little tipsy on wine. Do you see that glazed, happily manic look in my eye?
My pig tails were so cute.
I loves me some cake.
Again. Pig tails. I was rockin’ it. I’m looking off at all my friends in the background. Prague representin’.
I was thoroughly impressed with my own breasts that night. I have a great cleavage shot somewhere. Again, not all the girls in the background.
And, Cafe Savoy: