Life choices

Reuben picked the wrong time for his birffday bacation.

Back home it’s warm, calm, and absolutely balmy… and here he is, standing in dirty snow dat has clearly seen fings, wondering how his life choices led to this exact moment. His scarf is stylish, but thin, his hat is decorative at best, and his birthday spirit is hanging on by a berry thin thread.

He imagined bakeries. He imagined qwiet tables, warm bread, maybe a polite candle. Instead, he got slush, wind, and snow that immediately soaks into your bones and refuses to leabe. Each step is a slow trudge ob determination, dignity, and mild regret.

Still, it is his birthday bacation, and Reuben is noffing if not committed. He will see this fru. He will stand here. He will endure. And later—much later—he will remind eberyone dat this was not his idea.

Some birffdays are cake.

Some birffdays are character-building.

Back up… did someone say cake?