Worst. Birthday. Ever.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was the BHE's birthday. The BHE is a man of simple birthday tastes (and simple tastes in general, actually). His birthday happens to fall right around the time baseball season starts. Which is good, because all the BHE really needs to make him happy is baseball. Watching it, reading about it, speculating about it, practicing his pitching in the house, etc. Sometimes I'll catch him gazing wistfully into the distance (or just staring into space with a slightly bemused look) and I'll say, "What are you thinking about?" hoping he will respond that he's thinking about how beautiful I am and how happy he is that I rescued him from his hermit-like existence and made him the envy of all of City B.

But no. He'll say, "Baseball".

Long story short. Team O had their first game last night. So the BHE wanted to come home, order food, watch the game. Perfect! Makes my job easy. But it wasn't on network. And we don't have cable. So we headed out to a bar to watch it. Perfect! I love bars. But they couldn't get it either. Some complication with the satellite, I don't know. Cable scares me.

So to make him feel better, I decided to bake him his birthday cake when we got home (I had already bought the mix, and it was on the counter. Yes, a mix. Eff off. I'm a modern woman. And by modern, I mean lazy.)

But I couldn't even do that. Because our dogs, our two precious precious angels, had EATEN THE CAKE MIX.

Love, Fluffy