Last week, an extremely important person turned another-year-closer-to-30-but-not-quite-30. We celebrated by reminding him that he has more in common with most nine-year-olds than he does with most 30-year-olds. At least in his heart.
That’s an R2D2 version of the board game Trouble. If you can get R2 to stand up when you pop the popper, you get an extra turn. Mini lightsaber filled with M&Ms with which to threaten your loved ones sold separately.
He’s been wanting that 1966 Chevy C10 for a while. And I’ve been wanting a receptacle for my craft supplies. Everybody wins. Except for Jonathan, who apparently wanted a real Chevy C10, and who instead of saying “Thank you” said “It’s not the right color.”
The only difference between Jonathan’s birthday and a nine-year-old’s birthday is that Jonathan’s birthday included enough alcohol to kill the average nine-year-old. Peach bourbon pie recipe courtesy of Gimme Some Oven. Rich knowledge of the distillery where Evan Williams is made courtesy of the Kentucky Bourbon Trail and the amount of bourbon I’ve resultantly ingested this week.
Birthday field trip to Tennessee’s Beachaven Winery for Jazz on the Lawn.
The size of Jonathan’s hands makes this bottle of red muscadine look like a pouch of Capri Sun. Muscadine, by the way, is made from grapes native to the southern United States. Unlike Capri Sun, which is made from my childhood soccer practices and high fructose corn syrup. It’s much sweeter to be in the South.
Freshly baked flat breads, strangers who are also celebrating birthdays, and a pair of shorts that could probably be identified as treason. I’d say it was a successful day.
Happy belated to my husband-to-be. I want you to know that I’m not going to go so easy on you in Star Wars board games in the future. That was just my birthday gift to you.