Saturday, May 4, 2013

The Source Of My Heiny Tingles

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you!



Dear B-Lowe!





 I wished B-Lowe a happy 37th birthday last night.

He panicked.  His eyes popped.  "NO!  I'm THIRTY-SIX!  Crap!!  What?"

He grabbed a calculator and did the math.  "See!  I'm thirty-six.  Whewwww!"

When he wakes up, I'll try it again.  I'll lay a kiss on him and say, "You're the sexiest 37-year-old EVER!"

A poem for my B-Lowe:

It's your birthday, let us cheer.
Unfortunately, we're out of gluten-free beer.

I love you so, my heart pitter-pats.
It's okay you don't like cats.

You're a man to be proud of, yes indeed.
First time I saw you (again), I almost peed.

I love your smile, your teeth, your bum.
Tonight, Dear Heart, I'll give you some.

I hope this day is the best it can be.
Your parents are coming, dinner is free.

Guns and ammo fill our home.
It's such a mess, it makes me foam.

But I'll keep cleaning, it's what I do.
Anything for gosh-darn YOU!

Oops.  Another heiny shot.  I don't know where those are coming from.  

I need to get this computer fixed.  Happy birthday B-Lowe!!!!

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