The other day I said to my mom, “Mom, ever since you threw David a surprise party when we were little, I would anticipate my own birthday each year—watching, waiting, hoping for a surprise party of my own. And each year my hopes and dreams would be crushed as, one by one, the lonely birthdays would end with no surprise.”

She answered, “Aw, I’m sorry hun, but every time I tried to get one together, both your friends were out of town (bursts into laughter).”

*sigh* why is it so hard to be melodramatic around my mom?