One more birthday is all it might take to sap the last of my enthusiasm for all the gifts and the cake and too much attention. In fact, if you’re wondering what to get me, see if you can’t find a big box of the stuff—enthusiasm, that is—because I’ve burned through most of what little I had. I mean what happened to the days when going out for dinner was exciting (instead of just expensive) and all-you-can-eat was supreme? When did the summer become such a chore? And who wants ice cream if it hurts your teeth?
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