My wife was looking at my blog tonight, and saw my post about David Patrick Kelly’s birthday of January 23rd, and how it was strange that he had the same birthday as my eldest son and daughter.
She said to me, “You know the kids’ birthday is on January 22nd, not the 23rd, right?” After a short, informal ceremony I was then awarded the following certificate:
I was always positive my husbands birthday was Sept 29th.
In fact, I knew it was.
*sometimes I’m a moron*
Picture a jin proudly announcing her husbands birthday *29th* to the bitchy immigration officer on his case as she’s grilling the crap out of me.
Unfortunately she had his birth certificate directly in front of her stating he was born on the 28th.
[shame finger motion]
For years, my father and I have had trouble remembering the exact dates of one another’s birthdays. He has a pretty good excuse, actually: my mother went into labor on May 10th, 1961, and I was born at 4:32 am on May 11. He can never remember– did he bring her into the hospital on May 10 and I was born the 11th, or did he bring her in on the 11th and I was born on the 12th.
I did forget a now-ex-wife’s birthday once, when she and I were dating. She was not pleased.
You’re a day late and a dollar short Splotchy.