Pictures can be deceiving.We know that most photos are probably not as perfect as they seem, but somehow we still get sucked in. Here's a little story about the epic disaster that was my 27th birthday. I had intended to do a photo-documentary style post, but in the end, the photos were just telling the wrong story. This post needed words.So, here's the brutally honest truth.

The day started out ok. Jon had given me a fantastic new book (Sleuth by Philip Mould), which I was having fun reading, and I was still recovering from opening my mother-in-law's b-day gift.
I had unwrapped it slightly confused. This large white plastic step stool peered out at me while I tried to determine it's purpose. Finally, Jon explained it to me.
It was a squatty potty.
I laughed for a solid 30 minutes.
It now resides, quite proudly, in the bathroom-- a great testament to both the humour and practicality of my mother-in-law.
It was a squatty potty.
I laughed for a solid 30 minutes.
It now resides, quite proudly, in the bathroom-- a great testament to both the humour and practicality of my mother-in-law.
The rest of the day passed quietly and uneventfully, that is until it came time to make the pie.



When I finally composed myself enough to emerge, I found Jon, on the floor, trying to salvage the situation. But there is no way to sugar coat it, it looked like Fate had just barfed all over our floor.
Somehow we saved enough for each of us to have a small portion, unanimously deciding we'd fill up on pie instead.
We sang happy birthday (yes, I sang it to myself-- I needed it.), then cut in.
... and yes, the bottom was utterly raw.
So there you go. Perfect 27 was fraught with life lessons. Things like:
sometimes pies come out raw
sometimes you need a toilet stool to sit on while you cry
sometimes birthday dinners suck
and sometimes the story of a photo is a lot more entertaining than perfection.
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