After Classy Night at the Opera, Chris and I were laying awake too late, talking about our days. The conversation veered toward the subject of my threat to give Ky a wedgie on her birthday, which led to a conversation about how Amanda had sent us "two atomic wedgies" for our wedding presents. It was late, and we found ourselves to be funnier than we actually are, and apparently I had said the words "it's too bad that we come up with these things when we don't have any pens or paper nearby to write these things down."
Apparently Chris got up and wrote down what we were saying, because I woke up the next morning to find this sitting on my kitchen table:
You know, I love that little picture of a stick figure with a wedgie so much that I think I have to give you a close-up:
And so, because 29 is such a grown-up-sounding age,* we're sending Ky wedgies for her birthday. She'd better look out when we see her in church tomorrow. Happy birthday, my dear. Thanks for putting up with us around here.
* And it's that awful year where you have a high likelihood that someone will ask you "And holding?" when you tell them your age, which is why my mother-in-law spent her entire 29th year telling people she was thirty, just so they wouldn't think she was lying about her age.