(as if to assume I actually deserved such a title to begin with...)
Recently John and I had a disagreement about little Anne's birthdate. Seeing as how I was there...and always get this right (ahem), I swore without hesitation that my youngest sweet baby was born on October 28th.
"You sure?" he dared to wonder outloud.
"Of course I'm sure! I'm her mother. I remember it like it was yesterday...there were tornados that day...and it was lunchtime...of course, I'm sure."
He checked our birthday prayer list. Seriously, as if.
"Say's here she was born October 26th." (resting the blame on the calendar, not himself.)
"Really?" I offered back humbly..."Oh yah, right...we brought her home on the 28th...trick-or-treat. yep. Well...really, I was there...what's the difference?"
The difference is 2 days late on that cake and gift. How sad am I? Seriously.
