to Greatest Husband on his birthday, who is all alone in a hotel room in Idaho, recovering from the flu.
I found this horoscope (and took out all the naughty parts for general viewing, but I’ll have you know they were all – ahem – quite accurate).
March 3 leaves his wallet on top of the car as he drives away and sticks the front door keys on the outside of the lock for the rest of the world to turn. They need at least two pairs of glasses and a special place to put the current book they’re reading. And both sexes really need a filing cabinet for bills, letters passports and car documents plus all those losable things like washing machine and iron guarantees. March 3 has all the psychological indicators for a future of hunting under cushions. Apart from this anxiety, individuals born on this day are incredibly optimistic, capable of enjoying the simple moment for what it is. Great cooks – they adore pleasing people -March 3 throws a mean party. The table filled with little vases of flowers looks as good as the food, guests are carefully chosen to get on, good conversation flows.
OK. So, you’ll probably admit that I’m the one responsible for the “little vases of flowers,” but the rest is fairly accurate and god knows, you’re the sunny one who pulls me out of self-imposed seclusion into your generous world of conversation, good music and laughter – and the daily hunt for lost things.
Happy birthday, baby. We’ll celebrate soon.
Oh, and check the floor under your side of the bed for your book, and your bluetooth is probably in the pocket of your polar fleece sweatshirt.