Finally, on Thursday, the 6th of March, 2014, the D-Day B-Day arrived.

It’s hard to be too upset, however, when you’re spending it a) in New York City…

…and b) at Tiffany’s.

The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump into a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s, then…then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.

This day (and indeed, the entire holiday) was, of course, a very calculated effort on John’s part so as not to come home and find me hanging from the rafters.

We spent the better part of the morning inside, and had a Tiffany-adjacent breakfast at Trump Tower which has to count for something.

The Muppet workshop in FAO Schwarz.

Lego Clone Trooper.

And Lego Liberty!

She had some pretty chronic bitch face.

The Big Piano! From Big!

Hello, robin friend.

Remember that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie goes to the Guggenheim, only to discover that it’s closed on Thursdays?

We, sadly, did not.

So near, and yet so far.

Completely useless life skills: being able to identify all former ANTM contestants on sight. Oh hey, Fatima Cycle 10!

Apparently the Chrysler Building is the tallest brick building in the world, albeit with a steel skeleton. (The tallest without steel is Philadelphia City Hall, aka the one Glasgow City Chambers doubled as in World War Z.)

The Guggenheim having been something of a bust, we decided to switch up our to-do list and see Gunther von Hagens’ infamous Body Worlds exhibit – because what birthday is complete without some plastinated human (and, as it turns out, equine) bodies.

The bodies are supposed to be completely anonymous, which is somewhat jeopardised when you’re walking through the exhibition with a pathologist who can tell you the approximate age, sex and race of the cadavers.

And where else from there but dinner.

Good food, good friends, good wine – and a slightly mystified waiter following my order of a root beer float with a diet coke substitute.

Of all the ways I could have seen in the dreaded birthday, I can think of plenty worse.

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