Which was very nice of the owners, although I'm sure they're wondering why I bothered because although everyone else was there at the appointed hour, I arrived more than half an hour late and cakeless because I'd been rear-ended by a goddam moron texting driver while en route. No one was injured except the carrot cake. If the detailer ever gets the patina of cream cheese off of the ceiling and the odour of bourbon out of the upholstery, it'll be a miracle.
But other than that, it was a lovely evening of good food and banter, capped off by what is becoming a cherished family tradition: a rousing round of bathroom selfies. "Belfies!" my eldest daughter (she who has strictly prohibited the publication of her face, name or distinguishing features because she can't even get past the name of this blog, let alone the content) proclaimed them. I told her "belfies" is actually the new trend word for butt-selfies. (It's pretty bad when Kim Kardashian has the power to change the lexicon.) Her response? "It disturbs me that you would know this." Yeah well I not only know it, I perfected it. Because any eejit can take a #belfie but it takes a pro to shamelessly famewhore it into passing as a birthday gift. So, belated happy birthday again, Mom, this one's for you. We're disappointed you had the decency not to join us for the bathroom fun, but there's always next year!