I am working without pay.
I walk in yesterday to almost $10,000 in returns, so the next few days I'll be working just to cover these returns. I don't know that my customers realize (or care) that every dollar of a return deducts from my weekly paycheck. It's the only job I know where you can be losing money when you're not working, though the reverse is not true.
I had hoped to leave early but instead end up leaving late. I rush downtown to meet Jill and Susan for dinner at Cafe Medi. We are starting a new tradition, like the one I've had for many years with my Horace Mann mom friends — taking each other out for our birthdays.
This very nice restaurant has outstanding food and an underlying hip vibe. While Susan, Jill and I see each other frequently, most of our get-togethers are meeting to see a movie or a play. And typically we meet in our seats and talk for a few minutes before or after. So it's nice to actually be together and talk.
Birthdays are meaningful to me.
I'm happy for the Facebook reminders, and hearing from so many people — some from long ago and some who are in my life day-to-day. Each birthday wish conjures a memory of the person who wrote it. I hear from friends growing up, many of whom I haven't seen in decades. Friends from prior jobs. Friends from cities across this country. And four old boyfriends. Interestingly, I don't speak to my ex-husband or Alexander's father. I think that the hurt (in the case of my ex-husband) and animosity (putting it mildly, with my son's father) make it impossible to be friends today. I wish it were different.
I don't like seeing the number of my age advance, but I'm grateful to have so many inspiring, kind and incredible people in my life.
I get home around 11, and the doormen hands me a box. I come up to my apartment, open it and see a dozen gorgeous red roses. They are from Alexander.
My birthday is complete. I am one lucky girl.
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