My birthday occurred last week and it was a lovely one, filled with sleeping in, unexpected flowers and jelly beans, Boston-style pizza, and cake made to order. But it started off in the wee hours with the best part. Just after midnight, DH asked me if I wanted to open the first part of my present. "How many parts are there?" I asked curiously. "Three," he replied. After some thought, I agreed and he brought out a promising package, just the right size and shape to fill my heart with anticipation. I quickly unwrapped it and slid it out of its protective clear, plastic slipcase. Beauty . The one I'd been wanting. For ages. "It's a signed, first edition," he said. They all were, as it turned out. And I opened one later that day. And one the following day. Two Robin McKinleys and a Mary Stewart (Signed! I'd never even seen one of those before.) The boy knows me well, doesn't he? I also received a stack of shiny, new pretties from my