Belated Presents.

The night before my 23rd birthday, a boy broke up with me.  It was a Friday night, and I had been calling him to see if he and some of his friends wanted to come out and celebrate my impending birthday with my roommates.  Instead of a quick call to determine what bar we wanted to meet at, I was, unceremoniously, dumped.

That was lousy.

I called my Mom.  I cried to my roommates.  We did not go out for drinks that night.

The next morning, however, as I was getting out of bed, I sat upright, looked out my window.  "Nope." I thought.  "Not today. You will not be sad today, on your birthday.  You can be sad on Sunday, you can be bummed next week.  But not today, your first day as a 23 year old woman.  He's not allowed to do that to you.  Fuck him."

And so I got up, got showered and dressed, and took myself downtown to Newbury Street.  At 23, I had no money.  I was living in an apartment with three other roommates in Brighton, making a pitiful "salary" as a temp worker.  I budgeted every penny, spreading out my bill payments between paychecks, following all of the tricks one does when they need to make every dollar count like bringing lunch to work every single day, cooking all meals at home, cutting cable, etc. etc. etc.

But that morning, as I rode the T into the city, I decided I was going to treat myself to my very own birthday present.  I was, I told myself, allowed to buy one thing - one perfect thing - that day without a single minute of stress or worry about the money I was forking over.  I didn't have to hem or haw about whether or not the purchase would fit in my budget, I certainly wasn't going to stare longingly at said object but put it back, knowing I shouldn't waste my money on something so frivolous.  Today I was free to make a single, solitary, guilt-free purchase.  Happy Birthday to ME.

It makes me laugh a little bit now, remembering the print I so proudly bought that afternoon.  It was $25, I think?  And had a woodland fairy on it?  But I loved it so much then and $25 was a lot to part with at the time.  But I did as I promised I would and didn't hesitate.  And throughout that day the next few years I never once looked back on that purchase.  Truth be told, I still have it tucked away in a closet somewhere, because even though my aesthetics and tastes have changed, I still love that print.  Not necessarily for the artwork anymore but because I love all that it represents to me and the girl I was, who made a firm decision then and there to not let the assholes that might come into her life now and then have the upper hand.

Truthfully, I'm grateful to that long lost old guy who bummed me out so much on my last night as a 22 year old.  For without him and his (lousy) behavior, one of my favorite Kelli traditions, that of treating myself to a birthday present every year without an ounce of guilt no matter if I should be spending the money elsewhere, might never have been born.

For the most part, I can still recall what I've gifted myself every year since I started this birthday tradition. There are a couple of years where I'm a little fuzzy, but in general, there was one for certain, sure thing, that I knew I would treat myself to when September rolled around.

Until this year.

The thing about making a little more money as your career advances (which, let's be clear, I'm not exactly a millionaire over here these days or anything) is you can, thankfully, afford an occasional "fun" item now and again.  Something that in the past might have set me back for months is a bit more attainable - as it should be when you're no longer 23, and have been working hard to climb that good old corporate ladder.  While, yes, there are a great number of things I still pinch pennies for, I am also at a place in my life when there can also be a few things that I fall in love with and can just *get* right then and there.  Which is awesome, of course, and I'm lucky and grateful for that.  The whole point of the birthday treat though is that it's supposed to be this item I have coveted, an item I want to plunk down my debit card for without hesitation and without a glance back.  And this year?  I had no idea what I wanted.    

Part of it was because this birthday completely snuck up on me and I'd actually had zero time to think about a gift for myself.  And part of it was because I suddenly found myself putting this idiotic invisible pressure upon myself to pick. just. the. right. thing. for. 35.  I was completely indecisive for two weeks after my birthday, popping into a couple of shops now and then or looking at items online, without ever finding just the thing.  Once I knew I was headed to Manhattan in early October for work I decided I would do my birthday treat shopping down there; that seemed somehow fitting.

And so it was, on Thursday afternoon, after I left a lunch meeting in Nolita, that I found myself face to face with one of the coolest pieces of jewelry I have ever seen.  Now, I am a girl who loves her cocktail/statement rings and I already have quite a collection of lovely baubles and trinkets, including my absolute very favorite, would save it in a fire, cocktail ring I bought in London eons ago.  But back to this new ring.  Oh, what a stunner.  She was the perfect shades of blues and greens, an awesome shape and size.  I asked the woman working behind the counter to take it out for me.  I slipped it on my middle finger. It was love! Then I saw the price tag.

Um.

No.

Yes, the whole point of the birthday gift is that it's supposed to be a present that I buy without care about saving the money, but I remain a practical girl through and through.  When a piece of costume jewelry costs as much as a plane ticket across the country?  Well, that takes the frivolous fun right out of that purchase.

I put it back.

I am not too embarrassed to tell you that I thought about it all throughout that evening and yes, okay, I even went back on Friday to look at it again.  It was, it is, a really beautiful ring.  But I couldn't do it.  I couldn't fork over my debit card, couldn't drop that amount of cash no matter that I loved it, no matter that this was my 35th birthday present to myself.

So there I was, having had an exhausting and taxing week in Manhattan, given myself a panic attack at the 9/11 Memorial Museum, ogling a ring that I would not be dropping a serious chunk of change on, standing on Elizabeth Street, staring past my beloved ring at my own reflection in the store window.  Maybe you don't get yourself a birthday present this year, Kel, I thought to myself.  If it's stressful and not fun that's not the point anyway, I remembered.

Then, it dawned on me.  B&H Photo.  I love that store!  And they carry the camera bag I've been eyeing for several months!  I can hop on the subway and get to Midtown and that will be my birthday present!  Hooray!  Immediately I whipped out my Iphone to remind myself of their exact address and saw that they were closed.  In fact they had been closed for the entire week due to a Jewish holiday.  "Great," I said aloud, to no one in particular.  "JUST BRILLIANT."

I took the train back to Boston that night, present-less, and feeling more than a little defeated.  Maybe I should have bought that ring, I told myself over and over.  (And maybe, someday, if it ever goes on sale or I have a very significant pay bump, I will.  But not now.  No can do.)

Last night, upon leaving the office, I decided I would walk home, soak up the last bit of daylight and delightful balmy temperatures, grateful for this surprise October weather gift.  While weaving my way through the city streets, I popped into a shoe store, "just to peek."  I really had no intention of making a purchase, despite my deep and long running love for all things shoe, but then I saw them. A pair of boots I had noticed in previous seasons, from a company I adore.  "Oh," I thought.  My senses perked up.  "I bet they won't have my size," I told myself.

They had one pair left in my size.

And they were on sale.

I walked around the rest of the store, the large boot box in hand, afraid to set them down for even a minute lest someone snatch them up or a sales clerk restock them.  I walked, I paced.  I carried on an entire inner dialogue with myself:
"I want these boots."  
"But, Kel, you don't really need more boots."
"Yet maybe these are it," I countered.  "Maybe these are my birthday boots."
"Fine.  You can get them but you better ask what the return policy is."

I stepped up to the counter; the sales clerk began fawning.  "I saw these come in the other day!" she exclaimed.  "They are so stunning."

I smiled, still cautious. (Why was I suddenly being so damn cautious about this birthday treat for myself?)  She asked for my email address, looked me up in the computer system.  "Oh," she tells me, looking up from the screen.  "We have a coupon here that hasn't been used yet.  It's for your birthday last month."

Reader, I bought those boots.

Oh, and since I saved all that money thanks to the sale and that coupon?  I went ahead and ordered myself that coveted camera bag too.

Happy Birthday To Me.

(Perhaps I'll treat myself to that ring by the time my 40th rolls around.)