E.S.’s birthday is this Sunday, and I have been secretly planning to take him on a picnic. It should be taken as a measure of my dedication to this man that I have intended this picnic to take place in Brooklyn.
However, E.S. revealed to me today that his parents are coming into town for his birthday and will be taking us out to their favorite Turkish restaurant. “I wish you’d told me,” I said crossly.
“What do you mean?” he said. “I was talking to them on the phone about it two days ago right in front of you.”
“Oh, was that when you were shrieking at the top of your lungs while I was trying to catch up on back episodes of Six Feet Under?”
I told him about the picnic, and we decided to have it on Monday instead. “The one problem,” I pointed out, “is that the cupcakes I was going to get Saturday night from Sweet Sugar Sunshine would be dry and crusty by Monday. So we can’t have cupcakes.”
E.S. looked disappointed. “We can’t get them Monday morning?”
“Closed for Labor Day.”
His face brightened. “Maybe I could get a sexy redhead to bake me some cupcakes for my birthday.”
I was already going to go to Brooklyn; I wasn’t about to bake cupcakes too. “Where are you going to find somebody like that?” I asked, one eyebrow raised in scorn.
He looked at me as if this were the stupidest question on earth. “Duh. On the internet, of course.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll be celebrating your birthday with Trainer Bob.”
Then we went back to his place and looked at apartments to rent together.