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[Ingrid looks amused. More of the happy-amused and not the I'm-going-to-troll-about-sex sort of amused that she normally shows.]

I'm a little surprised the forces that be would remember my birthday and actually care to send a gift. Don't I feel special?

[She holds up a badly scratched and scorched hourglass with her free hand.]

I can't do anything with it here, but damned if it doesn't bring back good memories. And I believe, when one's knocking on seventy, good memories are a wonderful way to chase off those age related blues. Though I suppose that philosophy would work better for someone who thought about getting older more negatively. I'm only disheartened by the fact this is the year my family and students would have gotten such a kick out of my age, and they're not around to make the joke. Hmm.

My ramblings aside, as of yesterday I'm sixty-nine and I find that to be a stellar occasion to get a drink. Would anyone care to join? There's something a little depressing about an old lady drinking alone to celebrate her birthday.