Today is the day of my husband's birth. I won't tell you how OLD he is now, because I wouldn't want him to get all depressed and forlorn about his age and all. I still think of us as dumb 20 year olds who don't know what we are doing.
Alas. We are not 20. But we are still dumb and have no clue what we are doing. Plus we now have four kids.
I was having dinner at my parent's house one evening recently whilst David was working late. I told my dad that David wanted coveralls for his birthday.
You remember the coveralls, don't you, dear readers?
Anyways. I was telling my dad that this was what my husband desired for the celebration of his birth.
I trust you remember my dad, no?
My dad, who rarely utters a syllable, dropped his fork and slammed the table.
Dad: No!
Me: What?!
Dad: You must not buy him these coveralls.
Me (laughing, because my dad has always been a slave to fashion): What do you care?!
Dad: David is taking this country life thing too far, Taylor. It's too much! You must put a stop to this!
Me: Well, he just wants them because-
Dad (interrupting, because he is the patriarch and it is his right to do so): Let me tell you a story.
This may shock you, dear readers, but my dad isn't exactly known for his story-telling skills. Or skillz. Whichever tootles your horn.
Before this intriguing story begins, the reader must be informed that in days of yore, my dad delivered oxygen-ish stuff to people in need of such items.
Dad: Back when I had my route, there was this guy I had to deliver to. He wore such coveralls.
Me: So?
Dad: They were really awful.
Me: Ok.
Dad: So, one day, I go to his house for a delivery. I knock on the door and he answers wearing nothing but white socks.
Me: Nothing?
Dad: Nothing.
Me: Awkward.
Dad: So, he lets me in and says, "Sorry! I thought you were that other guy!"
Me: Ew.
Dad: WHAT OTHER GUY? Who was he waiting naked for? He was a weird guy. And every other time I saw him, he was wearing coveralls. So, David cannot get coveralls. It's just too much.
Me: Alright, Dad.
But, I digress.
I still bought David the coveralls, because it is what his heart desires. And what do I care anymore? He doesn't read this stupid blog, so we don't need to worry about him finding out before he opens them.
The coveralls I purchased look similar to these ones:
Except the ones I bought are a lighter blue with white stripes and look almost as if he is about to conduct a train.
Choo. Choo.
I am also making my husband his favorite cake. It is also the favorite, go-to cake for all of my crazy-kin inlaws.
Are you ready for it?
Take a yellow cake mix.
Prepare it.
Bake it.
Take a knife and just slaughter the top of it.
Take a package of pudding mix.
Prepare it.
Pour it over the top of the cake and let it set in the cake.
Refrigerate.
Spread with Cool Whip.
Ta. Da.
Make this cake and your husband, if he is a Maliblahblah, will rise and call you blessed.
No!
Do not fool yourself and try a fancy new recipe! Do not pore over cookbooks and pick out fancy cakes you feel shall impress your main man!
Just stick with the pudding cake! It is all he will ever want.
Ever.
Alright. That is all. Goodbye.
PS-He is 31