looks with jeans, evening
It was Sara's birthday and no one knew about it. She hadn't reminded anyone at work, didn't get any cake for her lunch. Or dinner, for that matter. She may have had a missed call or text from her mom (likely) and dad (quite unlikely), but her phone had been turned off yesterday and remained dead to the world in her bag.
Nothing good ever happened on her birthday. It was the worst day in the year for breaking her favorite mugs, losing her keys, ruining clothes and all these merry occurrences.
She had gotten two paper cuts at work, curtesy of cursed day and cursed speed. At least no one had seen her fall on her face between two shelves, waiting somewhat patiently for her paralysis side effect to lift.
Sara was convinced that if she stayed home, she would accidentally set fire to her whole book collection. Nevermind that she didn't own candles or a lighter right now.
She hadn't told Lydia about her birthday either, because Lydia was a good thing and as previously mentioned, no good things on birthdays. What if she set Lydia on fire with the books.
So here she was with a few crumpled pages of poetry in her sweaty hand. Maybe she'd take the stage and read it. If it went badly, it was because of birthday curse. If it went well, it meant that maybe she would be allowed to be happy starting right now.
A lot of stakes over such a small thing. So for now she just drank her wine and waited.