Last night, the GLOM (Gorgeous Ladies of Marketing) took one of our members (who happens to be our Soup-ervisor) to a tres fancy steakhouse to celebrate her turning the Big 4-0. Actually, her birthday is December 25, but we chose this arbitrary date to celebrate instead.

This place was really something. For starters, the door handles were in the shape of alligators, a neat bit of synchronicity since I was wearing my alligator bracelet. You know it's a good steakhouse when the interior is dimly lighted. Our waiter had a pen flashlight to shine on the tray of raw meat he brought to our table to impress us carnivores. "Charley's has been rated number four in the list of top ten steakhouses in the nation," Todd proudly declared. "What, and you guys let me in here?" I quipped. He explained that since it's Florida they can't be too picky about their clientele. Good answer.

Soup got verklempt even before our carefully selected bottle of wine arrived. "You guys are the best group of people I've ever worked with!" she tearfully declared. The other GLOMs got teary, too. I don't usually boo-hoo at such occasions, lucky for me the moment passed. "We love you, too," said Linda. "You're incredibly anal, but we still love you."

It's so true, Soup will change text over and over, fine-tuning until you almost want to scream, "Stop picking at it, it's only a 1/4 page ad!" (I'll bet.) But that's not necessarily a bad thing, I think she's improved my copy-writing, not to mention introduced me to the em-dash.

I dread turning 40, though Mom has told me that 50 is worse. According to one advertisement I saw recently, the oldest you can be to sell your ova is 33, so that ship has already sailed. Too bad, I could use the extra $5,000, but I doubt anyone would want my eggs. I think they're scrambled.

P.S. - May I recommend the shiraz? Just like that Monty Python sketch, this Australian wine has a kick on it like a mule. Well, not that strong, but it made me feel nice and fuzzy and not at all concerned about how much I will owe Linda at the end of the month, as she put the tab for our festivities on her credit card.