A terrible thing happened this weekend. Sam turned one. This, in itself, is not terrible. But humans seem inclined to celebrate such small and meaningless events, so the terrible part is that people descended upon our new house. I had seen these two before. The one on the left likes to sleep in my chair. The one on the right pets me and lets me in and out, so he's okay.
I remember this guy too. He also lets me in and out, and he spends time with me outside while he barbeques and smokes his cigars. I am not okay with the extra kids, however. You can see one of them pretending he's all sweet, sipping his juice box. Yeah.
Everyone filled up my new yard! I was planning to spend the day lying in the sun, rubbing my back on the patio, and running through the bushes. Just look at how my perfect afternoon was destroyed by all these people.
Finally, I saw everyone gathered in one place and figured it was the mass exit. How wrong I was. Instead, there was fire! And singing! And then platters of frosted, glittery things came out of nowhere and all the kids came running. Each ate one of the frosted items and then ran amuck like they were high on some sort of substance that children should clearly not ingest. I hope birthday number two happens at a park.
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