I think that my husband and I are strange.
First of all, for my August birthday, which was also on a Tuesday, I took great pride in the fact that we both had a bowl of soup at Ruby Tuesday’s. I had a Peach Birthday Smoothie (emphasis added.) (also the word Birthday was added.)
Also, we don’t really get excited about regularly scheduled holidays, like Valentine’s Day or Sweetest Day (does that exist outside junior high?) or any of those sorts of things. We have tried to go out to fancy dinners, and when we do, it’s not that we don’t have a nice, romantic time, it’s just that there are more normal moments that we treasure more. Moments where we are sitting on the back porch, usually covered in dirt, eating Subway, throwing bits of sandwich to Maybel and the Pig, discussing how best to get gray water out of our country home. Or maybe I’ve just romanticized it all in my head.
Anyway, wish a happy 25th to Mr. Teter.
And while you’re at it, wish a happy 53 to my father. (Creepy.)
As promised, updates.
If I can’t sit down and read the B-I-B-L-E myself, I might as well have someone else read it for me. And who better to recite the word of god than Reformed Sinner Johnny Cash? I opted for the “Johnny Cash reads the New Testament” over “State of Denial.” A bad decision? Only time will tell. Both have blood and liars. During a weekly trip to the bookstore, I came the secret treasure at the bottom of the shelf, and I’ve already made it through the first of 16 CDs.
I like the way he says “perish.” Like pereesh. Like grandpa says it. I wonder if he also calls a green pepper a “mango.”
I didn’t even get to half of it.
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