“There’s party pies in the freezer, and did you buy the hot dog buns?”
Master9 was having his 10th birthday party today and, because life likes to test our ability to juggle, Tracey had to duck out for a while in the afternoon.
“You put them away in the pantry,” I told Tracey in a tone which was frustrated and hurt and dismissive all at once. Like Zoolander’s Blue Steel I’ve been working on it for years and it’s sort of my signature move. I hate it when my wife talks to me like I’m useless. “I can handle this. What’s so hard about a kid’s birthday party?”
So long as you aren’t overly fussy about certain things, like when the food gets served or your kids overdosing on sugar or chips and popcorn ground into the carpet throughout the house.
Or when the cake comes out – in this case, after some kids had started to leave.
In my defense, our young guests were having fun and I didn’t want to disturb them. (Read as, didn’t give the cake a second thought).
And I realize this is all sounding bad and some of you might be shaking your head and sending my wife mental sympathy cards.
But the most damning evidence I’d not been the hostess with the mostest today were the candles.
“How old are you again?” one of his mates asked.
I can sort of understand why the question came up. One of the things I’m sure Tracey was going to explain to me, before I rudely cut her off and sent her packing, was where in the hell the candles are hidden in our house.
Which is why Master9 celebrated his eight hundred and eighty third birthday today with his friends.
I must say, he’s looking pretty good for his age.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”