Thursday was Jeff’s 95th birthday. Or 27th. Or something like that. I just remember it meant “REALLY FREAKING OLD.” Because no matter how old I get, he will always be 2 years and 7 weeks older than me.
Suck it, Trebek!
As I mentioned yesterday, we had a lil’ shindig at the house on Saturday.
Here is a picture of my father, in-laws and dog all singing to my beloved husband, in perfect harmony.
I was excused from the singing on account of being the Event Photographer. Which is really a gift unto itself. Dudes, I have a lot of skills but singing is not one of them. Just ask Mrs. Lentz, my third grade music teacher. We knew even then…
I had a fire extinguisher on standby.
(Also? Those boxes of china behind Jeff there? THIS IS WHY I NEED A CHINA CABINET*. Boxes ≠ classy. Ever.
That’s literally the only picture I could sneak in before Jeff got even more choppy-choppy-nommy-nommy on it. Chocolate cheesecake doesn’t last long ’round these parts.
Proof that I was there too:
Even though that boob thing is an optical illusion. Or something. My rack in no ways resembles a giant orange pillow. See here if you don’t believe me.
I hope Jeff had a good birthday! Though I can’t see how he *wouldn’t*, considering the perfect storm of lunch + family + presents + cake. How could you go wrong?
Up next: Fun at the History Museum.
*Which I will buy antique and restore and it will be beautiful. But that’s another story for another day.