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Today is D’s birthday. After weeks of begging for gift suggestions he came to me on Monday of this week with a photo of something he called a ‘puck mouse’. He allowed that it was probably too late and that it would make a good Christmas gift and I agreed. Of course, once his back was turned, I was on the net searching for this mystery item. I found it, paid for air freight and had it in my hot little hands Wednesday afternoon. On the way home last night I picked up a new shop-vac and a super-fine dust filter to go in it, and a ‘talking’ birthday card.
The vac is something we need, and served as the perfect camouflage for the good gift; the mouse. So I hid the mouse down in the filter and stacked everything in the front hall till this morning when I told him where to find his new flat screen TV. He masked his disappointment well, but didn’t bother to open vac and look at it, so I had to encourage him to do so. He took out the filter, shoved it on one arm and informed me I should have given him two. He’d seen the mouse, but it would kill him to act surprised so he ignored it ... until I delivered ‘the look’ whereupon he scooped it up and packed it in his bag so he could play with it at work.
But it is not the mouse he is enamored with, oh no, it is the card. Like a baby at Christmas that only wants to play with the ribbons, or the dog that would rather demolish the paper than play with the toy, D has latched onto the card. No less than three times this morning I’ve answered the phone on my desk to find myself speaking to Mr. Spock; who warns in his deep, monotones of the ‘total, utter, complete annihilation’ that will occur upon the lighting of D’s birthday candles.
Happy birthday honey, I’m glad you’re having fun. I love your laugh, and appreciate that you make me smile ... even when you are really just entertaining yourself - heh.