According to my doctor, a person with a broken bone needs as many calories as a “very active” person during the healing process -– and, at least in my case, my body has responded with a deep and abiding hunger. Smart move, body.
I meet a nice girl or boy. We hit it off, and I get friend-butterflies (frienderflies!) and begin to think, "Could this be it? Could this be my new best friend??" But then, casually, s/he will drop the best friend bomb.
I send out printed invitations by actual snail mail for my parties, make or commission psychotically complicated cakes and construct elaborate themes so that I have an excuse to wear tutus and tiaras and rhinestones. I'm the only grown-up I know who does this.