At least that's when Maria would like it to be (and probably at least three other times during the year), especially for Cecilia and Becky. I kid you not, moments ago she told me she had built a shopping list at a web site for me to look over. “What for?” “For Christmas.” Yeah… it's April. Can't wait for the next eight months to go by so we can get to that.
Last night I finished reading a 15 (some might argue 16) book series. Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. They are children's books (or maybe pre-teen). I bought one (Book the First) when we were first married, and after reading that first one, felt compelled to purchase all remaining books as they came out. I didn't start reading the rest until much later. Generally I would only read them in the evenings while I'm waiting for Maria to fall asleep (thanks to my trusty headlamp with its red filter). Having made it through all of the books, obviously I'm going to have a fairly positive opinion of them. Allow me to continue…
Read more...Conditions are perfect. A couple days ago I tell Maria I'm going to start making the bed in the mornings. I'm usually up before her, but I have time in the morning to perform a simple one minute task, plus I don't have children depending on me for anything. I figured that by starting to make the bed before April 1st, I'd throw her off the scent. The entire day takes place without any mention of it being April Fools'. If she does bring it up later in the evening, she won't think I've thought of it ahead of time, so there's nothing to worry about. Not even a hint of anything out of the ordinary. Not a whiff of it.
A whiff of what? Why… short-sheeting the bed, of course. I'm at like 3 or 4 years in a row of doing this, and she continually forgets. Blogging about it is almost a sure way to make sure I can't do it again for a number of years, but that's okay. My mother used to be the one to get me every year. Wax paper in my lunch sandwich, the plastic left on the cheese in my tuna fish, getting short-sheeted, lies that made me cry… the usual. Nothing too far out there, but enough to remind me that somebody was paying attention to me. So, although I laugh at Maria's misfortune, it's just a little way to remind her that I love her. Hope she likes the benefit of somebody else making the bed. Wonder when I'll be able to get out of that one.
Earlier today, Gruber said it how I wished I would have:
Happy birthday to every out there with — let's face it — the worst birthday possible.
These poor chumps have (and know) both of their ages, they get skimped of a true birthday every three out of four years, everybody who finds out their birthday makes the same lame comments and questions… they truly do have the worst birthday. Despite those things… on this day that happens only once in 1461 days, I wish them a very happy birthday. I'm glad I'm not you.
After disposing of our previous car, we bought a new (to us) car from a dealer. So far, we love the car, and it's been a wonderful replacement. My only complaint, isn't with the car itself, but with the dealer from whom we bought it. We have received no less than 5 letters from them thanking us for purchasing the car – from the manager, the service manager, the salesman, the finance guy, and the guy in the service department who puts those paper things on the floor when they bring it in for service. Actually, I don't really know the titles of each of the people… nor do I really care. We got the message though. You're thankful we bought the car from you. Next time, charge me less money and don't thank me – I'll be a happier customer.
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