When are you going to buy Vicki flowers!? I've been waiting forever for you to check that off your to-do list!
Vicki’s eagerly been waiting for flowers since October, so she quite literally has a gigantic water balloon full of anticipation swirling around inside her belly (along with Bunko Junior). If I were to suddenly hand her flowers at this point, that tense balloon would immediately pop and release a gigantic tidal wave of anticipation all over Baby Bunko.
So the point is, I gave Vicki a baby, and for the good of the baby, I absolutely cannot give her flowers. Don’t cry for Vicki, cry for me, the tragic guy who wishes he could give his wife flowers but can’t for the good of a fetus.
Perhaps I should stop writing “Buy Vicki Flowers” on my sort of daily to do list.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY VICKI PART 3 - PRETZELS ARE BETTER THAN FLOWERS
When Vicki climbs in through the window (our door is broken), she’ll be very excited to find a balloon, some flowers that match the color of the balloon, and because she’s a champion, two football trophies. The flowers will probably blow her mind because she loves them but rarely gets them, at least from me anyway. Every so often I’m an adequate husband. This is one of those days.
Note: This is probably the first and last time I’ll ever post a picture of flowers on this blog. I’ve never really been too into flowers, I’m more of a moss guy. I also like pretzels more than flowers.
PEOPLE OF JAPAN 08 - “THE FLOWER SWEEPER OR HOW I LEARNED NOTHING AND MADE VICKI CRY”
I remember taking this picture and then immediately complaining to Vicki about how I wasn’t getting any good photos on the trip. I went so far as to say that it was her fault for not wearing any cool outfits (of course by “cool” I really mean “odd”, her outfit probably was actually “cool”). Obviously she became really upset and I spent the next few hours making my “sad panda” face to cheer her up. As always, the “sad panda” face eventually won her over, although it took a bit longer than usual. I’m a terrible person.
Of course the irony of the whole thing is that now I really like this photograph. What is wrong with me?