Dear Blaine,

{clearing throat}

"Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Biiiiiirthday, dear Blaaaaine,

Haaaaaaaaaaappy Birthday to you!"

Ps. The last four years? Ever since you turned 39 and got cancer? Yeah, those four years have pretty much sucked. Big ones. And I’ve decided that you’re not getting another single solitary birthday present from me until you turn things around. Got it? Starting with tomorrow’s MRI, which fortunately, I learned will be done WITHOUT contrast. So shape up and turn things around, buddy, or pay the consequences.

{Tough love. Sometimes, it’s the only way.}

{And sometimes, it’s what you pretend to do when you were so busy hyperventilating from your public speaking engagement that you forgot to go *buy* a present.}