Mothers' Day

Happy Mothers' Day, one day late. Don't worry, I was on time with Julie. I've always been one of those can't-keep-a-secret gift givers. Well, I keep the secret, but it's agony to do so. I almost wish we were celebrities, so I could call in anonymous leaks to Fox News regarding what I'm getting everyone for Christmas.

Point being, I gave Julie her gift on Mothers' Day about three seconds after she woke up.

A couple posts ago, I wrote about how I was hanging with Gramps at the mall. We were actually there to search for the perfect mother-to-be gift. Such gifts do not exist, by the way, unless you want to go the candle route (boring) or the perfume route (bad idea with her fickle pregger nose).

Or like stationery or something, but I'm saving that for when she turns 100 and they finally take away her flying car license, compelling her to write angry letters about it to President Dick Cheney's preserved head.

So after moseying around the Mall of America, eating Haagen Dazs, and dropping off Gramps, I drove to the Galleria (snobbiest mall in Minnesota), then Target, and came home with still nothing. I just wasn't feeling it, you know? It's not like I'm going to buy her clothes. "Here, honey, it's a belt with lots and lots of notches." She'd beat me with it.

I went on-line, then, and hit the jackpot. Swan Lake tickets, baby. I'm taking her to the ballet. It's the perfect gift because it demonstrates my willingness to suffer for her happiness.