What makes unicorns cry

I’m taking a break from taking a break to write about what Kevin did yesterday.  Sometimes I think he exists purely for the sake of my blog.

Kevin didn’t come home from work until 9:30 last night.  I knew he was having a ship party at work but he thought he’d be home by dinner time, and I was too far deep into Cake Boss to be concerned with where he was.

At 9:30 when he came in and I asked what took him so long he said, “Didn’t you get my texts?”  So I fetched my phone and read, and this is a direct quote, “Uhhh…drank an entire bottle of campaign, might be late…”

I don’t know.  Maybe the unicorn on his face should have clued me off?

I wasn’t sure if he had flown home using fairy dust or driven himself, so if you ever wanted to see a picture of a muscular Italian guy in a pink shirt with a unicorn on his face take a breathalyzer test, today is your lucky day.

Any guesses?

And that was just the unicorn!  That’s some strong campaign.

(Just to clear Kevin’s name, we don’t own a breathalyzer test specifically for nights like this.  It was for our more raucous years when we hosted Rock Band parties once a week.)