39 years ago (give or take some days now), I was a late birthday present for my dad. I missed his birthday by 1 hour and 15 minutes. Growing up, we always had 2 separate celebrations, with 2 separate desserts, on the 2 separate days. I appreciate that my mom tried to give us both a day to celebrate, but to be honest, I don't know if it bothered me that much. (Or course, maybe this was because she always made things so separate and distinct.)
This year, my mom and dad were here visiting when our birthdays rolled around. So were Gina and the girls. Extra people meant that we could have a bigger cake, so mom and dad went to Kroger and got a nice bakery cake, complete with a lovely birthday message.
"Check it out, Chris," my dad said. "It looks nice."
"It sure does, Dad," I agreed. "But who is Dan?"
"Oops. I guess they misheard me," he replied, looking sheepish. "It should still taste okay."
As if messing up someone's name could affect the taste, you know? It did taste just fine. In fact, I ate too darn much of it.
This year, my mom and dad were here visiting when our birthdays rolled around. So were Gina and the girls. Extra people meant that we could have a bigger cake, so mom and dad went to Kroger and got a nice bakery cake, complete with a lovely birthday message.
"Check it out, Chris," my dad said. "It looks nice."
"It sure does, Dad," I agreed. "But who is Dan?"
"Oops. I guess they misheard me," he replied, looking sheepish. "It should still taste okay."
As if messing up someone's name could affect the taste, you know? It did taste just fine. In fact, I ate too darn much of it.
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