A Double Shot of Birthday Wow!

Today is a very special day for the women in my family. In case you don't remember what today is, let me remind you with this bodily-fluid enhanced post from last year, wherein I describe one rather unpleasant day all around.

So, today is my daughter's 8th birthday, which means she can sit in the front seat of the car. Oh, special indeed. It's also a special day in my wife's life, as she turns 29, which is traditionally the last birthday a woman has for the rest of her life. Which is good, because in about three years, I'd have to trade her in for two 16-year olds. What? That's how it works, right?

Anyway, we've got some birthday happiness being slung around the olde Jenksatorium today. There'll be singing and dancing and general debauchery...and then I'll get home and cook some steaks. Yeah, me! Provider of meat.

Oh, wait, I should talk about my wife's birthday present on Thursdays...right, right, right. Sorry about that. Did I mention she likes her steak with Bearnaise? Yeah, she loves a big slab of hot meat to come with a rich, creamy sauce. Mental image time!

That leads me into a little story. You've got time, right? Good.

When we were first married, the wife and I used to like going at it hot and heavy, which is to say that we'd do it like, once a week or something. I know. Animals. That is apparently the image my father-in-law had of us, because whenever he'd call, the conversation would start the exact same every single time. It'd go like this:

Me: Hello.
Father-in-Law: Hi, Matt.
Me: Oh, hey!
F-I-L: Am I interrupting anything?

This went on for months, probably almost a year. It was kind of ridiculous, because who would answer the phone during a Rousting Bout of Hide the Pickle, anyway? Priorities, people!

Anyway, one day I answered the phone while my wife was in the other room, so I decided to have some fun. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Hello.
F-I-L: Hi, Matt.
Me: Oh, hey!
F-I-L: Am I interrupting anything?
Me: Oh, no. We just finished up. Want to talk to [name redacted] Boudicca? Here.
*I held the phone away from my mouth so that it sounded like I was talking to someone while fully aware that I was speaking into the mouthpiece*
Me: It's your dad. Oh, hey, you missed some. Yeah, it's right there. By your mouth. Wipe that up with a towel, you don't want to get that on the phone. Well, I guess you can lick it up; that works, too!
*back into the mouthpiece*
Me: Okay, here she is.
F-I-L: *horrified silence*

He's never asked again if he was "interrupting anything."

Tune in next week when I tell you how I got the people from Liberty Baptist Church to stop ringing my doorbell to ask me about Jesus.

Oh, and, felix sit natalis dies to My Wife, the Comely and Buxom and Horribly Embarrased by This Story Boudicca. Don't worry, my little mulier pulchra, I remember that you don't like any pink in the middle of your big slab of hot meat.

And, Happy Birthday to wee Cookie. You better damn well enjoy that gaming system that I hunted all over the motherfucking Triangle for yesterday. Oh, and I'm sorry that the people on Craigslist are completely inept. I'll get that bike for you soon, I promise!