I pop into Starbucks after my morning run (in the SNOW– are you fucking SERIOUS, Winter? GO HOME) and my favorite elderly, sweet, soft-spoken barista takes my order.

Barista: “And happy birthday!”
Me: “Aw thank you! How’d you know?”
Barista: “You’re wearing a tag that says ‘It’s my birthday, bitches.'”
Me: “Oh. Right.”

Yeah. I know. I just wanted to hear you say bitches.

First birthday gift to myself? Check!
First sign I’m totally maturing? Double Check.