Today is my husband’s birthday.
It’s kind of a big one, which is why I didn’t mention the odd combination of shirts he was wearing this morning (short sleeved linen, over a thermal… in February… hmmm) or try to wrest away the knife when he was making his peanut butter sandwich this morning and making a huge mess in his newly-free-of-being-gluten-free glee. (“You don’t know how to make them right,” he says. “You believe in Depression Era peanut butter slathers. I do not.”)
I could not, however, resist the temptation to tease him (again) about the fact that he now has access to shiny new discounts. Like at the movies, for instance. (Not that we ever go to the movies. But that’s beside the point.) And at the bingo hall. (Again, beside the point.)
I also could not resist spoiling him. Just a wee bit.
So tonight we begin a weekend-long celebration of the day Smotch popped out of his mother’s vagina and was welcomed to the world with his first spanking. (Oddly enough, he’s a fan of vaginas, despite the experience. And of spankings.)
Starting with this:
I intend to have a fantabulous weekend. I hope you do too!