It's just a number, or so I keep telling myself

Hank and I celebrated our birthdays on Sunday. He turned 21. I did not.

In the time-honored Walter White family/Breaking Bad tradition, 

my breakfast spelled out my age (in green chile instead of bacon).

Google was the first one to acknowledge my birthday, which was kind of creepy,

but the rest of the day was one highlight after another.

The weather was gorgeous and I spent many hours in the pasture with my friends,

 then Lucy took me down the road for a lovely ride.

The Birthday Fairy made a surprise visit for the second year in a row, 

this time shipping an entire birthday party in a box!

I invited Smooch to the party. Johnny was there in spirit.

This card admonished me to celebrate and not be a candy ass on my birthday.

There was party food...

and all sorts of cool gifts...

...say nothing of LED balloons!

Smooch: Might there be something in the box for me?

Hell yeah!

The Birthday Fairy knows the direct route to Smooch's heart
and sent her a new Bret Michaels brand dog toy.
(I finally googled why Bret Michaels has his own line of pet products...here's why.)

I'm here to tell you that his toys really do rock, according to Smooch.

Smooch: You should have birthdays more often.

Me: Bad idea.

Thank you, Birthday Fairy, for making a potentially painful, milestone birthday the best ever.