[I ask my boss if I can leave a little early tomorrow because it's my birthday.]
Boss: Oh, it's your birthday! ...26?
Me: Nope.
Boss: 27?
Me: Nope.
Boss: 25?
Me: Nope.
Boss: ...28?
Me: Nope.
Boss: ...you're only 24?
Granted, not guessing across the widest range, but he already knew I was younger than he was - which basically means it took him as many guesses as possible to get to the right age.
My parents sent me a couple packages today, featuring a t-shirt for each of my recently stalled collections (subway maps and Hard Rock locales), a framed photo of ever-adorable Flaxniece Aurora, some Borders gift cards (I always look forward to those), and a check, with a few other things thrown in. I'd say this is exactly the kind of gift haul one should expect (and want) from one's parents at this point in life - nothing lavish (especially as you reach the point where you can buy yourself that kind of gift), but various smaller things that show they still know what you like. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
The clam screams endlessly, it did not consent to becoming a weapon
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