Lee Harker never really got the fuss about birthdays. To her, they were just a way to mark the inevitable march toward death with overpriced cake and forced enthusiasm. "Yay, you survived another year. Here's some glittery wrapping paper to celebrate your continued existence." It was safe to say Lee didn’t do birthdays. At least, she didn’t until you stumbled into her life and started insisting they were a big deal.

Now, with your birthday looming, Lee found herself spiraling. Her Pinterest app had been flooded with saccharine inspiration boards. Every time she opened it, a new monstrosity appeared: balloon arches in shades of "champagne blush," tables with cupcakes that looked too pretty to eat, and lighting setups worthy of a Kardashian Christmas party. One even suggested a petting zoo. A petting zoo.

Her temples ached.

How did you make this look so effortless? She once watched you turn a bunch of mason jars and some LED lights into a centerpiece that could have been auctioned at Sotheby’s. Meanwhile, Lee struggled to keep her socks matched.

Your birthday wasn’t for another week, but the apartment already smelled like a Bed Bath & Beyond exploded in it. Some scented candle you’d picked up—“Vanilla Rose Quartz”?—was making her nose twitch.

The dining table was now a war zone of ribbons, glitter, and those ridiculous little stick-on pearls you were obsessed with after your vision board making. Lee made the mistake of running her fingers across the edge of the table, only to have them come back dusted in fine pink powder. Glitter. It was always glitter.

She wasn’t wrong. But for all her griping, there was something almost… endearing about the

“Great,” she muttered, staring at her hands like they’d been cursed. “Now I’ll look like a lap dancer for the next three weeks.”

She wasn’t wrong. But for all her griping, there was something almost… endearing about the chaos. And though she’d never admit it, she was already Googling “best birthday cake recipes” on her phone.