To relive one day of my life: my eighteenth birthday is the first day that pops into mind. Life took an upturn that year: I was a senior in high school, at the top of my form (not very high, perhaps, but still a peak). I had managed to escape my poisonous home life with my mother and father who took off for Florida instead, leaving me in the care of friends who had four daughters and whose house was one big nest of love and friendship.
I got four cakes: three that day (one in AP Biology, right before lunch, one at lunch from my non-AP Biology friends, one that evening at dinner at the friends’ house mentioned above), and one a couple of weeks later with my parents and cousins when my parents returned home.
I’ve had happy birthdays since, but that’s the one I always remember on my birthday.