I'm kinda loving 24

Forgive me bloggers, but I have to take a post to brag on my birthday. Actually, I'm going to brag on my husband who was in charge of the birthday festivities. I had a great day!!!

We played a round of tennis together (he whooped me) before getting ready for the big night. Before we left, he snapped this picture. Chica was off to the baby-sitter (thank you Cappell's!) so I thought it necessary to document our short lived birthday celebration. (How many times do you think I can say birthday in one post?)


Once we ditched/dropped off Reesie, we drove to Memphis. I opened my birthday card in the car. In it were two visa gift cards. Danny warned they came with two stipulations.

1. I had to buy clothes.
2. The clothes had to be for me.
(It was all so very What Not To Wear-ish.)

My dear husband caught on that I rarely purchase clothes for myself. He also knew I probably wouldn't get around to using my gift cards-with- a- catch for the next three years.

So, right then and there he drove me to a mall.

That's right, the man who so detests shopping he would rather poke his eyes out than peruse a store, took me to a mall. And if you're thinking he swung open the van door and threw me out as we passed through the parking lot for fear of having some kind of allergic reaction, you're sorely mistaken.

He parked the car, walked me inside, followed me from rack to rack, held my items, gave input. It was one of the most romantic things he's ever done.

I bought a beautiful pair of Gap jeans at full price. I never do that. Ever. But since my husband was going all Clinton Kelly on me, I threw caution to the wind. If history is any indication I'll wear them until 2015. And I bought a shirt on clearance to ease the shock.

All that shopping worked up our appetites so we ate at Houston's. I ordered a pork chop as big as my head. Then we drove back to Gap to exchange my new jeans for a bigger size.

After dinner we picked up Reesie and headed home.

The End.

Or not.
(That's so not the end!)

But the rest is another story for another day. I can't share it right now for several reasons. It hasn't happened yet. It deserves its own pictorial. If I told you, every single woman east of the Mississippi would be banging down our door trying to steal my husband away.

And I can't have that happening because, well, I kinda like having Clinton around.