The boyfriend and I play a very silly game every evening. From the moment he gets home until we go to bed, we keep score of the number of "birds" (the middle finger) we spring on each other at the most inopportune and unexpected moments - during dinner, mid-conversation, while watching TV, when one of us is on the phone...the person with the highest tally at the end of the evening wins.
This morning, I woke up to this package that he's placed on the 'puter before he left for work, wrapped in paper that he's printed - a photo montage of him doing the "bird", at least 30 of them. Fucker!
Within was another "bird". A book celebrating the style of a very cool old bird that I've wanted for a long time. It's the cheeky sod's way of saying "Happy Bird-day".
I turn 39 today. I can only hope that I'd still be able to wear what I want to wear and have a fraction of Iris Apfel's style and substance when I'm her age.