Nineteen

Well, yesterday was a friend's birthday--turning nineteen! Which, in my humble, 18-year-old opinion, is a very boring age. Think about it: when you're a little kid, most birthdays are pretty good. You get cake, ice cream, maybe a pinata. You hit 10, and WOW! You're in the double digits! Then (at least in the Jewish religion), you turn 13 and you are a Man or Woman with a capital M or W! And 16, traditionally anyway, you get your driver's license. (In my state you don't actually get a restricted license until 17, and then you get an official license at 18.) 18, obviously, you get to VOTE (my favorite thing about being 18) and of course, you're a legal adult and your parents no longer have to sign your medical forms. 20 is the next decade, and 21 you can drink...and I guess that's about the end of each good number until you get to 30. But 19 just sits there between 18 and 20 and does nothing.

Well, at least the birthday party seemed to be a success. And the cake was possibly the prettiest I've ever helped make.

As no fire is allowed in the dorm, we had to use fake flames made out of construction paper. A bit difficult to blow out, but...

And we made dinner for her, too, including my mother's recipe for brussel sprouts. My friend got a bit obsessive and started aligning them perfectly on the tray.