My husband considers thirteen to be a lucky number--because today is his birthday. He celebrated by taking the day off, and started out by running errands. I was showered and dressed and almost ready by the time he came home; I had a stress hot flash looking for a shoe and had to wait to stop sweating before I could put on my makeup.
When we finally got out of the house, we took a lovely drive to a winery to pick up our quarterly wine club order, and enjoyed our free glasses (his a cuvee, mine a sweet muscat) as we sat on the terrace overlooking the vineyards. After some discussion about where to go for a late lunch, we ended up at a new-to-us small restaurant. The queso and chips were great, as was his pulled pork sandwich and my fried green tomatoes with chicken salad.
He tolerated my singing to the radio on the way home, and I rewarded him by buying his birthday cake, birthday pie, and BlueBell ice cream at our HEB.
He may think the date is lucky, but really, I am the lucky one, to have this man at my side for more than thirty-three years, who loves and supports me every day.
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