Your birthday falls now in the unfortunate position between banana buffets and nail polish parties. We ask you every year what you’d like for your birthday and you always reply that you’re good. No piles of thirty-seventh birthday invitations stack up on the dining room table, and any small trinket or large item that we might think of purchasing for you shows up on the bank statements that you faithfully balance each week. Surprises are hard around here, and fall on Wednesdays and work days and meeting nights. But still you are loved, and appreciated, as much for those average Wednesdays that require balancing sick children and stressful jobs and too many meetings, and the trash and the yard and the dinner making and the bill paying, as for those special occasion leave-the-real-world-behind moments that are few and far between. We wish we could whisk you away to somewhere different from a Wednesday (perhaps somewhere cooler than this hundred degree oven of a city), to a small little hut in the middle of a blue sea. You deserve that, for everything you do on these every-days, and we love you and wish you the best kind of birthday.