Go Shorty

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!
My mother always told me that someday I would look upon my birthday as a curse, a sign that the hand of death creeps closer to my neck to claim me back to the dirt. At the ripe old age of twenty-four, I see no signs of this happening. Instead, like an over-eager elementary school kid, I'll announce given any kind of context that it's my birthday. I don't do it to net myself gifts, just adulation. I don't feel the hand of death because I'm too busy screaming "it's my birthday!" to anyone around.
I woke up late, read in bed, and decided to get my lazy ass out of bed at 10:30 and prepare for a day of shopping. I went downstairs to get a bagel at Dunkin Donuts (and a donut too, because it's my birthday) and a small brown package was sitting by the door. I walked by it, figuring my roommate bought something on eBay again. Then I realized the dimensions were similar to that of an iPod box. Then I saw it had my name on it.
I slammed my foot into the door that was closing behind me, grabbed the box and ran back upstairs. "YEEP! YEEP!" I crowed to no one. Since my iPod was in Anchorage yesterday, I didn't figure to see it until tomorrow at the earliest. But here she is next to me, slowly uploading my mp3s onto the beautiful little gadget that has my name engraved on it (spelled correctly, I may add). Now I need to buy it a dock, some worthy speakers, and socks to keep it from getting scratched to shit like the last one.