But when I see Nick walking around with a huuuuuuuuuuuge rip in the back of his pajamas (half his pants have giant rips in the back, I swear), I demand he hand over the pants, and I fix them within 10 minutes.
WHY can't I just hem/mend my own things immediately? Why must I volunteer to fix someone else's clothing so quickly when I can't even make time to work on my own? Maybe it's a public service thing. Small children could be walking by the window, and Nick could be bending over to pick up a book, and we'd end up with angry parents beating down our door.
Anyway, this next week will be busy. I worked today and will work Thursday, I'm moving out on Friday and Saturday, and I'm coming back up on Sunday for graduation so I can harass my friends one last time. Oh yeah, and it's my birthday on the 18th. I keep forgetting, and I don't really care that much, surprisingly. It's sort of, "Oh, I'll be 23. Um... should I be excited? Woo, I'm getting old. That's like... grownup age."
At least my birthday gives me a good excuse for doing whatever I want all day and demanding someone take me to a delicious restaurant for dinner (or at least make me some PIE). Oh, and presents. But eh. I should totally have a birthday party where all my friends come in their little girl party dresses (EVEN THE BOYS), we make necklaces with fruit loops and twizzlers, and we have a big cake. A bunny cake. It would be awesome. I haven't partied like that since... I was 6. But I want ponies this time, not Barbies. Although I did have quite a few ponies when I was 6, too. I wonder what happened to them...
Pardon my silly rambling. I'ma go eat now. Buh bye.
(I still want a bunny cake with coconut frosting like my friend Elizabeth and I had for our joint 3rd birthday party... it was awesome, and I still remember it 20 years later)
