Birthday Girl

As of my birthday yesterday, I am officially a quarter of a century old. The big 2-5. And I can’t stop thinking, holy wowza. How did I get here?

It seems like it’s a million years coming that I am finally in a happy place and have everything I’ve ever wanted. The husband. The picket-fence. The shiny jewelry (he gave me a new ring as a birthday gift and it’s bling-tastic).

I have it all, and I still have my sad days, my cry-days, my punch-you-in-the-face days. But for the most part, I am happy. I am content. I am merely Stormy, with a grin upon her face. A dirty evil grin? Perhaps. But a grin all the same.