So, everything that could go wrong--went wrong. 

It rained.

I cried...a lot.

I wanted to cry more.

I was angry.

I was laughed at.

I did a kick ass job doing double winged eyeliner and there is no evidence of it. 

I washed it off my face with disgust and watched the black, swirly water wash down the drain with the rest of the day. When I lifted my face from the towel and looked back at myself in the mirror, I felt relieved. It was over. The Facebook posts, comments, and messages finally stopped and I could breathe again. 

He played "Happy Birthday" on the dobro, slow and broken, and it was the best I felt all day.

They can't all be happy birthdays.

And I'm okay with that too.

In just a few hours, I will be 35 years old.

I won’t sprout a new wrinkle overnight…although my “elevens” might require some Botox.

I won’t suddenly need a walker with little tennis balls on the “feet”.

I won’t start shopping for an urn or make funeral arrangements.

I won’t purchase a velour caftan from Soft Surroundings. (Even though I secretly want to.)

I won’t magically become a different person who works out, wears clothes that aren’t ill-fitting and wrinkled, and start saying things like: 

“Ermahgerd, glurten ruined my life.”

But…

I will have sore cheeks from smiling so hard it hurts at a concert that my soul NEEDS.

I will probably shed a few tears. A few are good.

I will obsess over my outfit and wear impractical shoes….and possibly a bubblegum pink tutu.

I will be thankful…so thankful.

I will still be the same goof who loves passionately, bumps into things, smiles often, obsesses over cute critters, and procrastinates out of fear that everything won’t be absolutely perfect.

And I’m okay with that.