‘Mix’ up

I was out with some of my boys at Mix in Las Vegas recently, high atop THE Hotel for a tastily overpriced meal.

All the boys had ordered dessert but I was happy with my skim cappuccino. But apparently before our order was taken, we were talking about some injustice or another, and one of the boys had said to me jokingly, “Well, happy birthday to you!” And we’d laughed and I’d said “No kidding.”

Well, our kidding turned into our server giving the boys their desserts, and then presenting me with this beautiful plate with a candle, candied nuts and “Happy Birthday” written in chocolate.

AND I got serenaded — the boys sang along because they honestly thought it must be my birthday. The server charmed me with his “Happy birthday, dear Mix guest. …”

But wait, there’s more! I was also treated to a free glass of their best champagne, a Muscat imported straight from France. OMG, yum. Yeah, I won’t be drinking any cheap-ass Asti Spumante or anything like that again — once you’ve had the real stuff, seriously I think it’s better to just do without any until you can have it again.

So once all the fuss died down, my oldest friend in the pack asked what the hell just happened. The newer friends in the group asked how they knew it was my birthday. I thought about it and said, you know, my REAL birthday is in exactly six months … technically the celebration was an accurate one if you’re into half-birthdays.

Which, I’m sorry to say, sent me into a very mild panic attack and I snarfed in that Muscat like someone was gonna snatch it out of my sweaty little palm. (My palms don’t sweat. Just an expression.)

I’ve babbled ad nauseam on this blog that “34 is my year! 34 is my year!” and OMG, it hit me that “34 is halfway over! You’re almost 35!” and I’m lucky my $100 entree only consisted of two lettuce leaves and three scallops or else I would have thrown up in my lap.

Anyway, I’m not quite ready to see that landmark birthday and I wish I had more than six months to prepare for it. I suddenly have this weird pressure to achieve everything I’ve ever wanted to do before I turn 35. Maybe I should just declare that “my year,” too, but I’ve wasted far too many years to keep putting off living, truly living.

In any case, my half-birthday party in Vegas is going down in company lore as “that time when Goddess managed to score a free dessert at a five-star restaurant.” At least it’s a Vegas-based antic that I don’t mind being talked about for!

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