I'm Getting Kiddie-Sick and Hub's Getting Old

I know I should update this here spot, but I’m still recovering from a bout of strep throat, so I’m a tad behind on, oh, everything. Plus, I’m trying to throw together a little soiree to celebrate The Hub’s imminent milestone (read: OLD). Excuses, excuses, blah, blah, blah.

Yes, I have been stalwartly forging my way through an illness I haven’t had since elementary school. Fun. And! Oh, and, this is the second time. I believe I mentioned Round #1 a few months back, which I called not-strep strep throat, and here we are again. With the not-strep strep throat. Because apparently, I am not just mentally contrarian, I am physically contrarian, too, and can’t register a positive, conclusive test result even when the doctor sticks a tongue depressor in my mouth and says, “No matter what the test says, that is classic strep to me, and I’m treating you for that.” And, thank God, really, because a big dose of antibiotics was exactly what I needed to knock me completely out for a 36 hour period and allow me to wake up and remember what feeling human is like again. Now, if said antibiotic could have been administered in a manner that didn’t involve a horse needle and my keester, that would have been better. Ouch.

So, onward to party time. I offered to Hub-man that I’d accommodate his birthday wishes if at all possible, but since he never really did spell out those specific wishes (save for some new Mach 3 razor blades and a Sam’s Club sized box of gum – People, get on that), I took it upon myself to whip up this little shindig. I told him upfront a surprise party wasn’t happening, because, well, it’s not. It’ll be a nice afternoon of beer, wine, and noshy bits, peppered with stories about is distant, long ago, way back childhood illustrating just how old he is (and while I may eventually achieve the age he is, I will never he as old as he is). I’m thinking of getting him a walker.

Problem is, he doesn’t seem to register his advanced years. He asked for a bouncy house, for heaven’s sake. For the kids, he says. Oh please, I say. I’m having visions of drunken bouncy Fight Club, ending with a puncture that makes my deposit disappear forever. Along with unquantifiable medical bills for broken hips and slipped discs and whatever else old people get when they think they still have their youth. So to all you people thinking this is a fabulous fun idea: you can send me the deposit and we’ll see how it goes. And mind you, the video goes straight to You Tube.