Tuesday was Myke’s birthday. I love birthdays. On my birthday, I want to be treated like royalty and not lift a finger. In fact, I get pretty indignant if I am expected to do anything besides eat chocolate. I think everyone should value birthdays as much as I do. Myke does not agree with me. He thinks birthdays are just another day. He is wrong.
I had the most marvelous day planned for him. I was going to get up early and make his favorite ham and cheese omelet for breakfast. I was taking chocolate cream pies to his office at lunch where his coworkers would shower me with praise. Then we were going to have a delicious steak and shrimp dinner followed by presents and a movie once Eva was in bed. It was going to be the perfect birthday.
Myke woke up on the big day and said he didn't feel like eggs for breakfast because his stomach was hurting. (That part was actually good for me because I could sleep in.) When I went to his office with the pies, my reception was lukewarm. No one clapped or wet their pants upon tasting the pie. Dinner was quesadillas because Myke wasn’t in the mood for steak. Instead of a movie we watched a rerun of The Amazing Race on Hulu. He did not squeal and run around the room when he opened his presents. This was the worst birthday ever.
I don’t know why Myke keeps saying he had a great day.
yum. chocolate cream pies.
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