This morning, Elvis sang Emma Lee happy birthday, with lots of vibrato and hip shakes. It’s the 25th anniversary of her natal day, which is more wonderful than terrifying, but a little bit of both. (It helps she has a crush on a 29 year old, this makes her feel comparatively young. It also helps that four days weekend boast four houseguests, three awesome parties, two new dresses, and a picnic on the East River. Stop the sniggering, it was wonderful, except for when the wind picked up and blew trash onto her leg.) There’s also the fortunate coincidence that Emma Lee’s writing careers seems to be going the right direction. IPPY on the 30th, meeting with the agent next week. And tonight, key lime pie. Elvis is rooting all the way.
ps. bye j. chicago! safe travels!
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