Bridgette and I had a housewarming party on Saturday night to celebrate our new home. Many friends and family were there, to enjoy the loveliness with us. It was probably the greatest night in history since the crowning of Charlemagne in 800 AD.
This was our living room, warm in Christmas tones and holiday tidings. Almost nobody spent any time in this room, which sucked. I’d been farting in that room all day (Chipotle), which may have been a contributing factor.
Look at all the food my wife made! She is domestically inclined! Feast upon pickles and quiche! Bring me more pickles and quiche! This quiche is cold! Put this quiche in the microwave for me! 45 seconds! (All these phrases and more were repeatedly shouted by me throughout the evening.)
This is a photograph of me regaling Thom, Jill, and Tami with my tales of chicanery and rapscallionship. More specifically, at this point I was telling them about the time I jumped the Jefferson Memorial with my snowmobile and the cops couldn’t catch me.
In this picture, Matt, Amy, Tami, and Jill all laugh at something. Probably you.
This is a photographic image of me with my wife. Later that night, Todd told me that Bridgette had told him that she likes me. It is so on.