I don't know when I became a birthday princess, but I have celebrated my birthday (the ides of March) for at least a week at a time for as long as I can remember. I know that a few other people would rather run a marathon with a sweaty goat strapped to their back instead of making a big deal out of the day they were born, but I just seem to sprout an invisible crown during the week around my mom's Labor Day. This year was no different, although I didn't put on any big parties.
Instead, The Chef took over the birthday duties, coming up with a birthday banquet (homemade fried chicken, mac-n-cheese, and cobbler a la mode) that came complete with purple tulips and a shiny birthday banner. Plus, he indulged me with a dance party AND a teary viewing of Steel Magnolias.
I am so spoiled!
Maybe I'll throw a party next year, in honor of the big 3-0, but it would be hard to beat this kind of attention.