Thursday is my birthday. At work we celebrate everyone's birthday with cake, usually food, gift cards. A fun little birthday tradition, it is.
I worked Monday and I don't go in again until Friday. I didn't know whether we would mark my special day before or after the actual date. I was thinking maybe before--on Monday--because parties after the fact aren't the norm and also because there are more of us there on Monday. It made sense.
This also happens to be the week in my cycle when I'm blue. Everything makes me sad. It's a miserable week to be within a 6000 mile radius of me : )
Monday wasn't a great day. Work was fine but little things were unsurprisingly getting under my skin. Plus, I was having difficulty with my hair. Who could blame me for being emotional?
During my lunch I was on the phone with Beautiful. She was patiently listening to my complaints. "I just want to cry," I admitted to her.
A few seconds later I whispered to her, "Wait! I've changed my mind!" I was all chipper and happy.
During the intervening moments between wanting to cry and being all upbeat, Pharmacist Rob had walked through the lunch area holding a cake. It meant we were celebrating my birthday that afternoon and that's all it took to cheer me up.
Ten minutes went by. A smile on my face for 600 consecutive seconds. I clocked back in and returned to work.
Fetching a fax from the machine, I saw the cake a little more clearly. I could see that there was writing on it. "That's different," I thought to myself. "We don't usually have birthday messages on the cakes." The idea that Rob had gone the extra mile to have the bakery personalize my cake just tickled me that much more.
Until . . .
I had occasion to walk right past the cake and I could see the writing up close.
"Welcome back, Tracy!" it exclaimed in loopy, lavender frosting.
Cake contact high dissipated.
That . . .