Birthday Delusions

It is my darling husband's birthday today. He is now 32 years old and in the prime of his life. As I like to remind him, it's all down hill from here. (I'm supportive like that.) Today is the day where I should write loving words about the man I married, and thank his mother for getting busy oh so long ago.

But I did that last year. Go read it if you need a refresher on redneck romance.

This year, I've decided to cut the crap, eliminate the mush and get straight to the point.

Happy Birthday Boo. I love you.

Since Boo is out of town, I'm not really busting a gut worrying about what to buy him for his birthday or whether my bush has been trimmed or the legs stripped of the small forest that likes to grow down there. All I really have to do is remember to phone him, sound sexy and talk dirty to him and I should have it made.

Got to love a birthday that easy.

So, first thing this morning, before even my morning java, (when my voice is at it's throatiest) I dialed up the hubby's number. And asked him what he wanted for his birthday.

His response? For me to drive down there and um, service him. After, of course, providing him with the birthday blow job.

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Once I regained my breath from laughing at him, I told him it wasn't going to happen. I have appointments today (re: getting freshly inked), shopping to do (re: I need batteries for my battery operated buddy) and soccer starts tonight for Fric (re: discover if her coach is hot or not and/or a total flake.)

It simply wasn't going to happen. But I did offer to courier down a brand new bottle of lotion and a girly magazine. Just for his birthday.

My husband's response?

Not to bother. Once I win the Hottest Mommy Blogger contest, he will have my naked finery to oogle whenever he commands.

Keep dreaming, boyo.

Birthday wish or not, I'm not winning that particular contest. Check out the numbers as you stroke your birthday sausage. I'm killing you. It's going to take a whole lot more than you determined to see my naked arse out on the net. You'd need to muster up an army of computer geeks, tech junkies and bloggers.

But I love how you have such an imagination. While you're at it, why don't you imagine me and the Hot Asian Chick having a wrestling match in a pit of jello over your man meat.

It's my gift to you.