Last night The Daddy arrived home and I greeted him with “I had to make a sandwich. I was about to pass out”.

His reply: “Why do you do that to yourself, won’t you ever learn?”

I took offense at that but instead of reminding him in a reasonable and adult manner that I do not have a canteen at my house serving such delicacies as BBQ beef, stir fry chicken and sushi, washed down with copious amounts of Odwallas, I let loose with a tirade about how my web sites look like cr*p, the design is out of the 90s and whoever designed them should have been shot. Or something to that effect.

Ahem. It really doesn’t pay to annoy the Chief Technical Officer. I spent the rest of the evening wrestling with my own stylesheets and swearing copiously.

However, The Daddy is probably a saint or something, because (although he still won’t fix my sites) he didn’t bear a grudge. Generally he doesn’t bear a grudge, and that is probably why I can forgive the fact that he never buys me flowers.

That’s right, never in the last 16 years together has he bought me flowers.

But that is about to change!

Well, technically it is not, but next week on my birthday I will be getting flowers, thanks to The Daddy, even if I do have to choose them myself. And all because one time The Daddy took the idea of recycling to a whole new level to procure me flowers. I wrote about it here. I won. How could I not?

.

.

I thought long and hard about publicizing this, because I really didn’t want to expose The Daddy to ridicule. And myself, by association. But it is  … kind of funny. Before writing this post I asked The Daddy if he would mind his dumpster diving skills were revealed to an even greater audience. He just shrugged, and said he didn’t see a problem.

If you know The Daddy you will probably understand.

.

.

If you don’t you will probably misunderstand, but that’s fine too

.

.
And now, time to go choose my flowers! With big thanks to The Daddy!

…

Oh, and … ahem … The Daddy? Could you please fix my stylesheets now?