I’m 30 today, as you could have extrapolated from yesterday’s post.

I’m okay with it.  It’s cool.  I’ve been wanting to be a grown-up my entire life; much of my childhood was spent in great frustration that adults WOULDN’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY.

Today I told some people I don’t know very well that it was my 30th birthday, and they were surprised and thought I was 20.  I don’t know if that’s a testament to my immaturity or the fact that I wear sunscreen every single day.  Oh well.  One time in high school I was complaining to a friend of mine about how everybody thought I was younger than I am, and he said that was a good thing, because it was something people didn’t know about me.  I thought that was kind of strange, but it wasn’t until (years) later that I learned his father was hiding from the Nicaraguan government.  I guess it was naturally for him to put a premium on mysteriousness.

So anyway, here’s a picture of me with the presents Denny gave me this morning.  Shown:  my beautiful cashmere-lined leather gloves from Rome, my C.U.C.I.N.A. (the Italian word for kitchen; also an acronym for the Italian translation of “How a kitchen inspires new appetites), and a cookbook by the author of a really good food blog I read.  Not shown:  some pretty earrings and a gorgeous tart from Deluxe, the bakery that made our wedding cake.  We also have a dinner date tonight, and champagne is chilling.  Whee!