Today is my husband’s birthday.
Happy birthday dum dum! I love you almost as much today as I did when we first met which really, after three kids is sort of an accomplishment. Ha ha ha ha. Oh me. Honestly, I am so crazy about you for all the tangibles and all the intangibles. I love your humor, your honestly, your gentleness, your patience, your sarcasm, your values, the way you look at your kids, the way you look in the morning, your hair, your smile, your bastik and your smoove sense of style. And although you have been supporting me, here’s what I’d do for you if I had a million dollars:
I would hire Paul Westerberg to serenade you for your birthday – and every Saturday night from now on.
I would insist that you quit your job and stay home to write a screenplay about Julia Roberts.
I would buy you Restalyn.
I would take you to Italy, rent a gorgeous villa (and buy Liz a ticket so she could help us with the babies), and go back to that pizza joint in Florence (as long as that cigar smoking guy isn’t there).
I would buy you a hooker. Make it two.
I would force you to go get your skateboard fixed up with wheels and tell you to spend everyday hanging out with Tony Hawk.
I would feed you scallops every single night.
I would have John Corbett eliminated. And Kathryn Heigl.
I’d move us back to Santa Monica north of fucking Wilshire (yeah, I know, I’d need about six mil for this one).
I’d have the headlight repaired on the Volvo.
I would buy you The Reel Inn and hire someone to run it.
I would buy you that beach house in Canada so you wouldn’t have to only look at pictures and reminisce.
I’d tell you to be a professional Madden player for the rest of your life.
Unfortunately I don’t have a million dollars. But I feel like I do because I have you.