A couple Saturdays ago I had a birthday. It’s getting to the point where the numbers are too scary to say out loud, so I’ll just tell you it rhymes with florty-flate. (Was that you who just gasped, or was it me?!)
Kevin kept “forgetting” it was my birthday because that Saturday it was also Wrestlemania. All week he followed me around with puppy dog eyes until finally I said, “Okay fine, you can invite you friend over for Wrestlemania on Saturday, even though it’s my birthday.” To which he said, “Oh, it’s your birthday?”
I knew Kevin wouldn’t really forget, which is why on Saturday morning I wasn’t surprised when he came upstairs carrying a gigantic box. A gift! For me! With some effort, he set it in front of me on the floor, and when my eyes swam into focus I found myself staring at a gigantic bowl of meat.
It was a smoker, Kevin said. So he could smoke some meat, he said. For Wrestlemania.
Well.
At least I had a giant box all to myself.
Well again.
Okay, okay, you caught me. I’m telling a warped version of the truth because it makes a better blog post. To be honest, it was actually me who invited our friend to come over because I adore this friend of ours and he makes any day of the week feel like a party. I’m the one who asked Kevin to smoke a big piece of meat because I wanted the smell to waft through the windows all day. I’m the one who told Leo to climb in the box and act like a goon.
Just kidding—he did that one all on his own.
Really, the only gift I wanted was to see my boys outside shoveling dirt into my garden. And they delivered!
But there was more! Kevin knows how much I love Builders Bars, so he had the boys write encouraging messages on a few boxes of bars.
They call them “Self-Esteem-Builders Bars.”
But there was more! The one thing on my Japan to-do list that I didn’t get to do was eat a rainbow grilled cheese sandwich, so Kevin made me one on his own.
And so, if we’re being completely honest, it was a perfect florty flateth birthday.
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