End of birthday celebrations

Delta called in a panic on Saturday.
"So you know those tickets to Wicked that I bought, that we're supposed to go to tomorrow?"
"Yeeeesss....?"
"Well I bought them online. You know. Like from a website."
"And?"
"And I haven't received them yet! What if the website was a dupe? I mean, I just paid so much money and now maybe we'll never receive those tickets. I should never have bought them online! And what if -"
"Hang on a sec. Was there a number? Did you call them?"
"Yes and the guy even sounded so nice on the phone!" he agonised.
"Don't worry, it'll work out in the end," I consoled, ever the sage counsel of a person advocating inaction.

And somehow, miraculously (ie due to Delta's persistence), it did.

So Sunday afternoon, Delta and I jumped excitedly into a cab inching painfully through the traffic towards theatre-land. And boy, was Wicked worth the cost and time and stress! Witty, sharp, engaging, ostentatious, all the things one would look for in a broadway performance. And, as Delta pointed out, it scared the kids in the theatre into silence.

We squinted happily into the sunlight as we exited the theatre after the show was over.
"Fancy walking over forty blocks to the Boat Basin?" I asked.
And so we ambled leisurely over to the riverside bar for a bit. And then to Calle Ocho for a lovely Spanish meal.

"Thanks a million for all that," I said, as when we were safely ensconsed in the taxi back home. "It was a lovely day."
"Anytime," he smiled down at me. "But for the record, your birthday is now officially over. No more celebrating."
"Oh." I was downcast for a moment. Then I cheered up: "But my half-birthday's only six months away!"

Suspiciously, I got no response.