Today is Mr. Book’s other birthday. He has two birthdays every year, one in April and one in August, and that’s more or less my fault. See, in my family, birthdays are a big deal—I got his early and was preparing to make a cake and so forth when he started trying to persuade me that in fact his birthday wasn’t coming up—it wasn’t April 24, but August 24! Obviously the most logical way for me to handle this was to give him two birthday celebrations, each of them with its own presents, cake, and fooferaw. It’s sort of like I’m trying to teach him a lesson, except the lesson could be read as “Lie to me and get lots of cake,” so maybe the message has been lost. Still, cake! His dinner request was for this artichoke pasta thing I made up a couple of months ago, and there will be dark chocolate cake with raspberries all over it. Also, I will sing. Unfortunately, he’s also got to spend part of it at the auto shop, hopefully just getting oil and filters changed with no accompanying bad news. Still, he has the day off work, so the day just can’t be that bad.