No room for 29 candles

The candles have long been blown out, the beer cans returns returned to their rightful owner at the Liquor Store, and the chip crumbs have been vaccuumed from the carpet.

But there is still some distressing birthday evidence lurking in the aftermath of my 29th birthday party: not one, but two birthday cakes. I don't think my will power has been tested to this level before. Every time I open the fridge, there they are in all of their decadent glory: the cakes, literally with my name on it.

Somehow this disgusting display of gluttony is legitimized, and definitely warranted, given the fact it's my birthday. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I'll keep milking the birthday excuse until every bite is inhaled. Hey, it's only once a year, right?