Ain’t nobody thirty-nine today.
Thirty-nine plus a few crayon candles, maybe.
A few candles steadied in a piece and a half of bread.
Which…was all we had at the time.
And which hardly matters, I guess. Only in that my son asked real nice if he could taste dad’s “special” bread. The bread which by association had elevated itself to cake status and which made my son scoot his eyeballs around like he was snitching frosting and not merely picking at the crust.
Back to what matters, which is that this guy–the one who’s not thirty-nine– knows how much he’s loved by these two…
And by me…
Happy Birthday, dear husband! Happy Birthday.