And how.

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.