David had a breakfast potluck party this morning. I made the Lemon Blueberry Poppy Seed bread, which, I believe, first made its debut appearance at Tiff's bridal shower. (Kel is the one with the memory so she will probably correct me on this.)
I thought I ought to document the moment. Just to be fair. I was afraid the jamba juice incident might have left a bad impression.
You'll notice that I took the picture in the girls' bedroom. The light is best in there in the morning. And I wanted good, solid, and also, lovely proof. There you go.
And now for your reading enjoyment I will give you the conversation that got us to here, along with the interpretation in italics of what was actually said. Pay attention, it's subtle:
Last night as we were leaving Olivia's concert,
David said casually, "They're having a breakfast potluck for my boss's birthday in the morning. I think I'm going to pick up some donuts." (Don't be angry. Please. But I need you to make something fabulous.)
So then I said, "When is this potluck? (Grrr. )
David: Tomorrow. (Yikes. This is already going badly.)
Me: You need to give me some notice. (There's a whole unattractive rant here about how I'm just supposed to be able to whip up something wonderful at a moment's notice. I'll just leave that out.)
David: I didn't want to add anything to your plate. (Earlier this week you were positively scary to live with.)
Me: I guess I could make the lemon poppy seed bread if you go to the store. (That's true. I have been hard to live with. But still. A little notice.)
David: I think I'm just going to sleep in. (Thank you, sweets.)
I know you think I got that last line wrong, but I was dead on, as evidenced by the fact that as soon as we got home, David got out the cookbook, made a mental list, and went to the store.
Now that I reread that, I'm not sure what I just proved. Just look at the picture. That part was nice.