Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Hell, I'm 56, I don't remember my 21st birthday. And it's not because I drank so much, it's because it apparently wasn't very memorable. Or was that the birthday with the wine? If so, that's a story I don't want to tell.
Okay, I'll tell the story. This is a tale my wife and I have kept secret for thirty-five years. The minister of the church we went to was on vacation. He and his wife had someone house sitting. My then-fiancee conned him into letting us use the house for a nice dinner. I brought a bottle of red wine. Sometime during the course of the dinner we spilled a bunch of wine on the dark oak table. My fiance ran to get a towel but, to our horror, the wine almost immediately soaked into the wood, leaving no mark or stain. I looked under the table, expecting to see wine dripping out of the bottom of the table, but there wasn't. It was as if the wood simply absorbed it like a sponge. We never told anyone, until now. Sorry Dick and Betsy.
One recent birthday (within the past five years) was when my wife made a cake with bacon. She made a three-layer white cake with caramel frosting, which I thought would go good with the bacon. She layered the bacon between the layers of cake and then on the outside of the cake and covered it all in caramel frosting. It was delicious but very rich.
What's your favorite birthday memory?