In which I turn 41 and realize I've received the gift of contentment. For the most part.

I just had a birthday. I turned 41.

I know what you're thinking: Did I go to Vegas? Did My Guy whisk me off to Paris? Or perhaps we just had an intimate gathering for 500 of our closest friends.

This is a dramatic reenactment of the celebration.

While these are obviously great guesses, the truth is far more glamorous. Here's how my birthday went down.

1 week prior: I look through our Amazon orders in an attempt to reorder Lil' Frankfurter's specialty dog food. I spy an order ... my birthday gift order. My Guy has ordered me a power washer.

You might think this is right up there with the Christmas my dad bought my mom a toilet seat. But no. I love power washing and have long desired my own power washer. Just think of all the things I could clean!

So, I kind of ruined my own birthday surprise. And my husband bought me yard equipment (because he says I can't use the power washer inside the house - whatever). But I am delighted.

2 days prior: The power washer arrives. I try it out. It is all I ever hoped for. I realize this makes me either really sad or really secure in myself and happy with my life.

Birthday morning: My Guy lets the dogs out, and I find it strange that they don't come back to bed. I realize my sweet husband shut them downstairs. This evidently was not to Big Doodle's liking. I come downstairs to find that my 80-pound prince of a dog has peed not 1 but 2 oceans of pee to communicate his displeasure.

I spend 20 minutes and an entire roll of paper towels cleaning up the oceans and the splatter. Because when a tall dog pees, there is a splash issue.

I am somewhat crabby.

I check my email. I have received spam from Poise, urging me to upgrade my bladder protection. Poise pads - what every 41-year-old wants for her birthday!

Birthday day: I do laundry. I clean Big Doodle's stinky, infected ear. I finish up 3 work projects. I am still in my workout clothes - without having actually worked out - when My Guy gets home from work.

Birthday evening: I change my clothes. We go out for dinner. I order a guava mai tai. I order this $8 drink because it's my fucking birthday and I fucking deserve it.

This is adulthood. This is a birthday as an adult. I get a power washer (yay!) and an appeal for Poise pads (boo!) and I order a drink like a fucking lady (boom!).

The most upsetting thing is that I'm not that upset. This is actually just fine.