I don't know about you

...but I am definitely feeling 22.

Squirrels do brunch.

I can't stand T-Swift, but I do think she has a point. This is the first year I've actually felt my age -- it's like I finally found a pair of heels high enough to match the outfit I've been wearing all along.

Or, maybe I just needed new shoes.

So, to celebrate the latest chapter of my bildungsroman, I gathered a few bottles of champagne and my favorite people into a cute brunchery in West Philly. I had more candles to blow out this year than ever before (thanks to Justin for the midnight treat, Marsha for the red velvet deliciosity, and my hall for the tiramisu masterpiece), and the day, too, was brighter than any birthday past. 

My little, my darling.

The Spivak to my Rubin <3

The future secretary of education, and her fashion protégé.

The most perfect man alive, and you can't even see his paisley tie.

We enjoyed our pancake bowls (yep, that's a thing), lox platters, and orange-infused bubbles while swapping stories for hours... Literally, the restaurant had to kick us out.

But that couldn't rain on my parade, though Philly did decide to sprinkle a bit of afternoon snow upon my path, like a dollop of sweet birthday frosting.

Me: "Let's take a selfie!"
Marsha: "Do you mean an us-ie?"

In the afternoon I meandered through my favorite rare book collection while whispering to a boy who drove all the way from Manhattan just for me. And in the evening Marsha and I cooked a homemade dinner and grabbed a cab over to the Avenue of the Arts. The play we watched was lackluster indeed, but spending time with my favorite Aunty is always perfection, regardless of circumstance.

Three roses from three dapper men!

Throughout the day, I received messages from my loved ones scattered across the globe, from York and Dublin to Vienna and Rabat. And so, when bedtime rolled around, I slipped under the covers with a heart that hasn't felt this full in quite some time.


L