It’s my party & I’ll whine if I want to.

I’m getting older.

In fact, I just “celebrated” my first ambivalent birthday.

The first birthday where my age was going to be a number that I actually wasn’t looking forward to.

The big 2-9.

The last year of my twenties.

A number that will be an ever-constant reminder over the next year that the countdown to 30 has officially begun.

I didn’t exactly know how to deal.

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I went out. I had more than a few drinks.

And then I woke up with the first hangover I’ve had since college.

Okay, so that’s one thing I don’t miss from my younger days.

To top it all off, my husband gave me this:

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Oh, no. I’m so NOT turning 30.

It gets worse. The card sings.

My husband has a particularly cruel sense of humor.

Either that, or he just can’t count.

It’s not so far-fetched considering that we've been married for almost 6 years and the man can’t even spell my name correctly.

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So I’m 29 (NOT 30)…and I married a jackass.

Happy Birthday to me.
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