Yes, it's true: In 11 days, I will be the proud owner of a green, 3-speed Schwinn Breeze. With sparkly green handlebars. My pops will be delivering this belated birthday present when he comes to Chicago to visit. As if I'm not already fucking pumped to see Papa Hamm—we're going to the Chicago Botanic Gardens!—this visit, he unknowingly is giving his daughter her ticket to Hipsterville. Oh, hell yes.
My new baby looks something like this:
It's so beautiful, it hurts.
My birthday party at Grandma and Grandpa Eckhardt's house this year really was a memorable one. Not only did I have tears in my eyes from stifling laughter throughout our 3 p.m. dinner, thanks to the grandparents' tales from their annual trip to Florida (I'm not sure if they knew it was funny), Grandma E was just so damn chatty that she started cutting my birthday cake before the birthday song. Of course, the three candles were there—"Past, Present, and Future!" (uhh, maybe you have to know my grandma to find that funny)—but a third of the cake was missing as I made my birthday wish. Priceless.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Grandma asks if any of us want a bicycle. I follow my grandpa out to the garage with low expectations. I am presented with the hippest bike the streets of Chicago have ever seen.
I fully expect something of this nature to happen within 48 hours of possessing my Schwinn:
I also hope to be engaging in these types of dialogues:
Life is going to be sweet.