May is just a time for birthdays.

This can be seen by the obscene number of birthdays Facebook keeps informing me about. Also, what better month to be born in than the very same one as yours truly? Over all, May is easily the best month out of the whole year and therefore the only acceptable month to be born in.



There is, however, one little exception...



O sweet K. How I love blogging about you. As I've mentioned before (and been reminded of several times a day), K's birthday is fastly approaching. And what better time for her to decide to kick off her birthday celebrations (because heaven forbid her birthday only be celebrated on the actual day of her birthing) then the very same week as my birthday; homegirl certainly knows how to steal someone's thunder. Not that I'm bitter or anything; I prefer to concentrate all my celebrating in to one day so as to really wow those around me. It looks much more impressive to get tons of gifts on my actual birthday than tons of gifts spread out over several weeks. But I digress. This post, dear reader, is to share the event that kicked off K's three-week birthday bonanza.



K has been informing myself and fellow runners that Tuesday, May 10th was the start of her birthday celebrations for oh, about 2 weeks now. And what made her chose this date? It was the only time her boyfriend (yes, she has a boyfriend...makes you feel real good about still being single, doesn't it?), who we shall call C, could come over to celebrate her birthday with her. Something about him going out of town, both of them being really busy, his mom was only able to drive him over then, yada yada yada. And K, being the person that she is, has been planning this special evening since she found out it was to occur.



On a side note: K and C have what she calls "dates" maybe every third month or so. She prepares for this hallowed events by making sure everyone else is aware it is going to be occurring and reminding us all that her engagement has been "verbally confirmed." But more on that later...



I know you're asking: what could K possibly be planning for this special event? Surely a nice dinner and candlelight and movie viewing will be occurring. It is, after all, her 25th birthday celebration with her one-and-only. And yes, dear reader, you would be partially correct: dinner and a movie are de rigour on K and C's dates. But your definition of a nice, romantic dinner is far different from K and C's definition. Allow me to list the menu for the evening:



1 medium "Mighty Meat" pizza for K (and only for K)

1 medium Hawaiian pizza for C

1 two-liter of Coke for K

1 two-liter of Sprite for C (this is a couple not very good at sharing...)

an order of garlic sticks



AND...(drum roll please) for dessert...the most important part of the meal...AN ENTIRE TUB OF COOKIE DOUGH...served RAW.



That's right: raw.



Excuse me while I die.



I mean, seriously. The very thought of eating all of that makes my stomach start convulsing and really kicks my gag reflex in to gear. Who in the world could possibly think consuming ALL of that food in one sitting was a good idea?



And yet, K's plans were laid. She proceeded to talk about this meal for the weeks leading up to the date and even got yes-I-am-still-on-my-sandwich-diet-even-though-I-haven't-eaten-a-sandwich-in-days runner Jim in on the excitement; poor Jim turned green every time she mentioned her feast to him. But onward she plugged, counting down the days, reciting the food list, inducing nausea in all who heard.

But at last the fated day arrived. It was time for K's big birthday date. She was in a tizzy all morning and I've never seen anyone look quite so rapturous to clock out (and believe me, sometimes I literally countdown the seconds til 5...like literally...if you double click the time on the computer, a second-by-second clock pops up). She sprinted off to catch her bus, faded purple purse flying behind, little feet shuffling as fast as possible, and I thought to myself "Ahh...that's either true love right there or an incredibly strong craving for artery clogging foods." Myself and the fellow runners began to patiently wait for the next morning, when K could share her evening with us all.

Little K did not disappoint. The next morning found her all a glow with fond memories of her date. The massive amount of pizza consumed, the fizz as 2 liters of soft drink poured down her throat, that first second when the raw cookie dough hit her tongue and salmonella began to take over her immune system...every second was precious. But wait: K didn't actually get her cookie dough! O no. By some for of luck or misfortune, depending on whose side is being presented, dear C's mom realized the peril of allowing 2 young, in love nuggets to consume a whole tube of cookie dough and managed to intervene just in time. Instead, C brought K an absolutely lovely personal black and white cake from Whole Foods, courtesy of his dear mummy. And how to I know this cake was lovely? Because ever so kind K brought it in to share with the office.

Um. Gross.

The sad fact of the matter is that everyone in the office has been around K enough to notice that in her eyes, cleanliness is not next to godliness. Trust me, it doesn't take long to realize that you do not want to go near anything K has touched, looked at, smelled, or possibly contemplated eating, much less put one of these objects in your mouth. And it was incredibly obvious that K had been in to that cake (understandable; it was her birthday cake after all). But the jagged edges of the now missing chunk of cake most certainly did not add to its appeal. So the poor little cake sat in the upstairs kitchen while 7 paralegals, 3 secretaries, 3 runners, 1 office services coordinator, and 5 lawyers either pretended not to notice it or mourned the fact that they weren't daring enough to eat it. That cake sat. And sat. And sat. And as it sat there, with absolutely no covering, K tried to pawn it off on people by casually luring them in to the kitchen ("Hey Brooks, I have something I want to discuss in the kitchen...") then almost demanding that they try it ("O K, I'll get some after lunch..."). So that poor cake sat, untouched and uncovered, through the whole day and on into the night and was still sitting there when all 19 or so of us trooped back in the next morning. And K still tried to foist it off.

The situation was getting dire and there was some concern someone was going to have to actually take a nibble.

And then the situation took a turn for the worst.

One of the paralegals, a particularly spunky lady who had just returned from maternity leave and had a rather brusque, but entertaining, way of spelling things out (we shall call her Candy) decided that the cake just had to go. And in to the trashcan it went.

Imagine her surprise (and everyone else's) when the cake was found yet again on the table, a little dented around the edges. GROSSSSSS! Pandemonium ensued. People were giggling everywhere, looks of horror were flying around, and no one knew what to do. Good ol' K had yanked that cake right out of the trashcan and put it back on the table- and then had the nerve to try to get Jim to eat it! Luckily, dear Jim-bo had been forewarned and had the good sense to sidestep that offer. But still- she had pulled a cake out of the trash and tried to get someone to eat it! You see what I put up with?

In came The Boss to settle the matter, and the cake was properly disposed of, and K sent on her not-so-merry-anymore way. Yet full order was never restored that day; all any of us had to do was slide our eyes sideways at someone and slowly start to smile for mass chaos and giggles over K and the cake to begin again.