Now that I have exactly fourteen birthday parties under my belt, I’ve become somewhat of an expert. This year, the only thing I forgot was forks for the cake. When I announced to the bevy of five-something-year-olds that they would be devouring pink and white birthday cake with their fingers, I was greeted a round of applause.
Somewhere in Orange County, New Yorkers are startled by a FLOP followed by a resonating THUD. Who knew Emily Post’s coffin was roomy enough for gymnastic flips?