Pam finishes reading Holly's letter on Michael's laptop, deletes it, and tells Michael that Holly still has feelings for him. "I can't tell you specifically," she says, "but it's not over." Which is exactly what Michael wanted to hear.
Kelly enters the conference room with the sad little party, and the sad little pile of gray balloons on the table like a stack of giant ball bearings, and her very own cake wreck. It says "Happy Birthday Kelley" and has a single Chiclet stuck in the middle of it. Kelly is not thrilled. Jim and Dwight explain that the Chiclet represents a pillow or a TV -- which means that the theme is her choice: she can pick an hour-long nap or an hour of TV. Kelly suddenly loves it. She picks nap, and Dwight herds everyone out of the conference room while Jim sets her up with a pillow and a blanket to snuggle under the conference table. "Too excited to sleep!" Kelly whispers to us when the lights are out and the door is closed.
Jim and Dwight enjoy some cake together near reception. And at the end of an hour, Dwight walks into the conference room and wakes Kelly up by slamming a couple of metal trash can lids together. Where did he even find those in this day and age? Wisteria Lane? "Now go back and make up for the work you missed while you were taking your nap," he tells a groggy and docile Kelly. "Many happy returns." Pan back to the "IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY." banner. Well, I think that was the best Dunder Mifflin-Scranton birthday party ever.
Driving once again in the gathering dusk, Michael is so excited about his "closure" that he wants some more. "Let's go apologize to Roy," he suggests. Pam doesn't think so, so Michael starts thinking about other people he can apologize to. Like, "that fat guy from Stamford I insulted." Pam remembers Tony's name, but Michael's too busy using his mnemonic device to remember it himself: he was fat, fat people like pizza, pepperoni, which rhymes with "Tony!" But then he remembers how fat Tony was, and realizes that he could never apologize. Because he was sooooo fffffat. I think Michael grew up a lot this week, don't you?
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer,follow him on Twitter (mgiant), or just e-mail him at m.giant[at]gmail.com.