The scene in my living room five minutes ago.

Husband: “So…uh…you’re 31 years old today, huh?”

Me: “Why in the world would you bring something like that up?!?”

Husband: “Um…because it’s your birthday.”

Me: “You’re rude, man. You know…you…you can’t just go around saying stuff like that! That kind of shit really hurts my feelings, man. Whatever.”

Do you want to know what the best part of today is going to be? When I hand over $112 to the tag office for my fucking truck tag. Happy birthday, Dizzy. No wait…happy birthday to you, State of Georgia. It’s really super nice of you to do this to me every mothertruckin’ year. It’s honestly like…no really, thank you. Like I’m not poor enough, now I’ve got to give you thieving bastards money that I really don’t have. Money that could’ve been spent buying me a card and a nice gift. Nope, every year I get to buy a truck tag for myself. That’s like, the best birthday gift a girl can get.

*throws up middle finger in general direction of tag office*

Thanks for taking my birthday money, assholes.

So yeah, I’m 31 years old today. Can’t you tell…I’m super excited about it? Boo!