#70 Take someone out for a birthday meatball sandwich.

What is it about all men I know that makes them stubbornly dig their heels in the ground about not celebrating birthdays?

I for one, celebrate birthday WEEK. I believe all special occasions should be commemorated. Because, why not? Life is short and arduous and most days I wake up and go sit in a cubicle and stare out the window and wonder how I got there and then after eight hours of mind-numbing meetings and water cooler chit chat, I shed my stilettos and my alter ego as I hobble down the street and only when I am within the safety of the four walls of my shoebox in the sky can I exhale the day and feel like a real person who doesn’t use the terms “touch base” and “let’s connect” in every goddamn sentence as I feel the wine seeping into my blood and making me whole again.

Today was my friend Dave’s birthday. Despite electing not to tell anyone, my Facebook alerted me of this news upon waking this morning. As such, I dragged him to Kensington Market (my favourite place in Toronto!) and treated him to the biggest meatball sandwich money could buy.

We then basked in the sunshine, tomato sauce dripping down our faces (in our judgement free zone), enjoying one of the last days of summer, anticipating belly aches for the rest of the day, but not caring anyways (because we washed down our sandwiches with a handful of Tums and fervent prayers).

Now begins my birthday week…so to all my real-life friends, remember, nothing quite says “I love you” like a combination of meat, cheese and bread. (Or Burberry. That works too.)

Total Kindness Cost: $21
Current Jam: LIGHTS – Up We Go



  1. Yes. Yes. And yes! Happy birthday! Mine was 9/7 and we started the party on 9/3, all through Labor Day weekend, and didn’t stop until Friday night, 9/9. Celebrate, girl! (P.s. Dear Husband doesn’t acknowledge his birthday if he can half it.)

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