Last week, Anna took me out for dinner for my birthday and we went to this little deli on Bay Street, which was basically deserted except for me, her, three staff members and a couple octogenarians reading the National Post.
At some point, Anna, who isn't usually gung-ho about going up to random people and asking them things, decided to see if she could get the place to do anything special for me for my birthday. She conned them into a free piece of strawberry cheesecake, at which point (after thanking her profusely) I admitted that I'm actually allergic to cheesecake.
Five minutes later, the three middle-aged staffers came by with the cake, complete with a pink, flowery candle and sang me the most awkward verse of Happy Birthday (also insisting that Anna sing along) I have ever experienced in my life.
It was awesome.
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