Happy birthday, Mr Brilliant
I don’t know. Have I mentioned once or twice or a thousand times that I love Mr Brilliant? Not just for the spectacular ways in which he thinks and the marvelous crazy wonderful gifts and the James Joyce glasses and the fact that he calls up the White House chef to find out how to make gingerbread icing instead of googling it and the way he smells or the fact that he tapes burning candles to his head just to make us laugh.
You’re tired of hearing it, but I’m so not tired of saying it, and today is a special day in our household–Mr Brilliant Has A Birthday! Evidently, according to Tess’ rakish decoration of his vegan red velvet heart cake, he turned 25 in spectacular form today. I imagine when you’re 4 years old, 25 might seem just as old as 52.
And so, Mr Brilliant, happy birthday. Here’s to many, many, many more, so many that we become completely insufferable old codgers together, our teeth in a jar and our veins pumped full of celery juice and doughnut holes, bothering our children with our reminiscences about the good old days way back when Andy Pettitte wasn’t a snitch, when people still knew who Harmon Killebrew was, when Chuck Knoblauch could still throw from second to first, when Johnny Unitas was wearing high tops, and when pasta was just plain spaghetti.
Love. Big. MMB (that’s a secret Patti to Johnny message, yep, yep it is).
