In which I learn about true superpowers.

Last night, I had to change the sheets at 11 p.m.

We had gone to bed early. My Guy was reading, and I was in that weird twilight that can best be described as "It's freezing in our bedroom and I've been traveling and I'm exhausted and I can't talk to anyone else or do anything for anyone ever, ever again so don't even ask if I flossed before coming to bed."

Big Doodle snoozed in his dog bed. Lil' Frankfurter snored in the bed between us, his doting parents.

And then? There was some sort of explosion.

Lil' Frank leaped from the bed and started gagging. The husband and I were both immediately wide awake, overcome by the nastiest, fartiest smell ever. And then My Guy realized there was some sort of stuff all over his shirt.

It was also on the sheets. The stench was remarkable. And we couldn't figure out what end of Lil' Frank it had come from.

It didn't really matter, though. Our number 1 objective was to strip the bed and the shirt immediately. We cleaned everything up and calmed Lil' Frank down. The foul smell lingered, but I was so tired that I didn't exactly care.

Today, Lil' Frank was still fragrant. And his little booty? Well, you know. I took him to get his anal glands expressed. Best day ever!

Except! The vet tech brought him back to me with a bit of a shrug. "They were mostly empty," she said. "It was like they'd just been expressed."

I looked at her blankly, then the light bulb went off. I explained the previous night's adventures.

"Oh, sure," she said nonchalantly. "If there was liquid and smell, he probably expressed them himself."

Let's just let that sink in for a moment. Lil' Frank, who weighs 8 pounds and can't even go up and down stairs, expressed his own anal glands. In our bed. And his little ass explosion so terrified him that he catapulted off the bed and almost threw up.

To be fair, I catapulted off the bed and almost threw up, too. But I have opposable thumbs.

The Westminster Dog Show needs to add a new competition. Screw agility and best in breed. The real test of a dog is its ability to clean its own butt.

Resting comfortably with a clean backside.

Operation: Eff Yeah, I'm 40!

When my dad turned 40, we threw him a funeral.

A family friend was an undertaker, and he filled our living room with white folding chairs. There were plant stands holding dead flowers, and we even had that little stand with a guest book. My dad came home from work to find all his friends seated in the living room, crying softly while looking at a Skippy Peanut Butter jar full of fireplace ashes.

And then us kids were shipped off and they tapped the keg.

But yeah. A funeral.

I'm turning the big 4-Oh in a few months, and it doesn't feel like a death at all. It feels kind of badass. Like I'm just getting smarter and stronger and more interesting and well on my way to knowing exactly what everybody needs to be doing because I'm so smart and they would be lucky if I told them what they're doing wrong. My inner old lady who doesn't give a shit is alive and well. I like her.

So, I'm trying to decide how to celebrate my birthday. I turned 21 during finals week, so my big "party" was having a morning exam, downing beer at lunch, sleeping it off in the afternoon, and then studying all night. When I turned 30, my life was basically in the toilet, but my parents and friends conspired to throw me a wonderful, humbling party. It was lovely.

Now, looking at 40? I don't need a party. I want to go someplace special with My Guy and do something empowering. Maybe hiking or kayaking or getting a really nice coat at a deep, deep discount. The possibilities are endless.

Well, the possibilities within the continental United States, anyway.

What should I do for my birthday extravaganza? How have you celebrated big birthdays? Any advice? Operation: Eff Yeah, I'm 40! needs your input.