Today is Chuck's 37th birthday, and I'm giving him a brick. Not just any brick, this brick:
I saw it while on hellcation in New Hampshire.
Chuck, honey, there's a lot of shit that's up in the air right now (your job, my job, should we sell our house? should we get rid of our fat cats because we're tired of vacuuming? should we have another baby? should I cut my hair? should you stop farting so much? do we really need to fix the car door?), but really, a lot of it will fall into place as it's meant to.
I hope this brick offers you some peace of mind. I hope you have a great day. In fact, I hope it's your best birthday ever. And I am not jealous at all that you and Junior get to spend the day together while I'm at work.
Because I am mature and self-sacrificing and fabulous.
And a lying sack. I wanna stay home too!
Er, Happy Birthday, honey. I love you.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.