Disclaimer: Don't own, never have.
When Pam was little, her cousin Alice had told her that everybody in the world was doomed to have at least one failed birthday.
"You don't know when it's going to come," she'd whispered solemnly, "but when it does, you'll know. You'll just know."
And until she had turned maybe thirteen years old, Pam had believed her, fully and truly. The nights before her birthdays had been sleepless, miserable nights. Wondering if this was going to be the birthday, the one failed, doomed, horrible birthday.
Now that she is turning twenty-nine, Pam has outgrown those kind of superstitions. Well, mostly.
It doesn't look like this is her unlucky year though. Because Jim brings her brand-name candy and a teddy bear, and when Michael finds out, he orders pizza for everybody in the office and says they can spend the rest of the day just relaxing.
Well, except for Dwight. Always except for Dwight. He sulks at his desk, glancing up from his work only to shoot evil glares at innocent employees.
Jim draws a donkey on a huge sheet of scrap paper he found laying around somewhere and coerces everybody into playing pin-the-tail on the donkey. Everybody is amazed by Kevin's amazing ability to tail the donkey every time until he confesses to being able to see through the blindfold.
So altogether this is a shaping up to be a great day. Pam surprises herself by almost enjoying the presence of her coworkers (Michael excluded, as always). She is laughing and eating pizza and brand-name candy and she is happy. Happy birthday.
She is standing back from all the action, just watching, and she sees Jim and Ryan are talking, and she wanders over their way to eavesdrop better. With the pretense of picking up another slice of pizza, she hears Ryan ask, "Got any big plans tonight?"
And Jim, "Actually, I have a date. Gonna see a movie, go out for dinner."
And she thinks that maybe it's odd that these words, from a guy who isn't her fiancé, can make her stomach go all cold and all her happiness melt away. Because she knows it shouldn't make her feel like that.
She and Jim are just friends. He can go out with whoever he wants. He should. She wants him to be happy.
But maybe her bad mood infects everybody, because soon Michael decides a party isn't a good idea, and everybody heads back to work. Dwight smirks everybody as they walk past, and she wishes it wasn't illegal to punch his sorry face.
And she doesn't know why she's so unhappy. She really doesn't. Honest-to-God, she swears she doesn't. She has a great fiancé, she spent most of the day pigging out on pizza, and she's getting married soon.
But she doesn't feel right, and at three she tells Michael she has to go home. Stomach flu. Headache. Fever. Something. Anything.
Jim seems concerned, but she really doesn't pay much attention. He asks he if she needs a ride home, because he'd be perfectly happy to ditch work, but of course she says Roy will take her. And Jim helps her pack up her stuff so she won't have to move around, and she thinks what a sweet gesture it is.
And Roy is wonderful as well, and he says he understands when she says she isn't feeling up to going to the restaurant where they had reservations. He is even considerate enough to go to a bar with his buddies so the house is quieter.
She puts a candle in a cupcake and sings a little song to herself.
"Happy birthday to me; happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Paa-aam. Happy birthday to me."
And she doesn't know why she's crying, and she doesn't eat the cupcake.
Maybe her cousin was right.