Please. No more cake.

Today we backtracked, doing my dad’s and Cheryl’s dad’s birthdays a couple days late. We opened presents… again. We had cake… again. We sang that song, off key… again.

We’re not really done yet. We’ve still got my mother and a sister to go; but with Christy in Indy and my mother six hours away, there won’t be any more parties. It’s just as well. Right now I’m pretty sick of cake. I love sweets, and I’ve got the waistline to prove it. But even I get a little tired of cake after six in three weeks.

Give the gift of words.