I have no idea how I managed this, but both my main guys, my husband and my dad, have birthdays back to back. Dad's was yesterday, August fourteenth, and today is Rheuben's, on the fifteenth. I usually spend the rest of the week on a frosting-induced high, which is only brought down by the fumes from any solvents used to make gifts. See, it all balances.
Too hot for any sugar to cut through the sludge this year, and with the humidity, all I'd have to do to make soup would be unwrap a bouillon cube. The air has been that moist. Left Dad's celebration before the cake (Oreo cake, too, darmit, and it was my friend who brought it, so I claim unfairness. Oreo cake, people!) to go rescue dh who needed errand run, and then promptly stripped down to one of his oversized t-shirts to spred a towel on the bed and lie in front of the fan, next to my current read. Listened to him play World of Wonders (he did not kill me when I dubbed it --affectionately-- World of Weasels so he still gets his gift) for a few hours.
But that's not the point. I give you a gift from my dad; the story of how his birthday fell on VJ day (no, not the MTV kind, the WWII kind) while he was on active duty. He told us this for the first time yesterday, and I thought it was hysterical, and very dad, so am sharing.
Dad had been looking forward to celebrating his birthday with his Army buddies, and had saved his beer ration so he'd have a full case on his birthday. Everything was going according to plan right up until the day. With only hours before he'd be free to celebrate, this was going to be the social events, as the full case of beer was a well-known thing...and then...the news comes in. War over. Case got raided by understandably ebulllient soldiers, Dad got bupkus.
This year, he got Oreo cake (and all of it, grumble grumble grumble) DH is getting peanut butter brownies.