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It's Catie's birthday and she got the treat of having breakfast with my folks. She gets to see my past by watching Ernie who seemed annoyed that he wasn't the centre of attention so acted up and to see my future by looking at my dad. Though it's more of an alternate future from the timeline where I had studied Maths at University as dad was making observations about the factors that would make up her age. 9 x 5 in this case.
I was cooler than this and just pointed out that this was her second vinyl rpm birthday and that she wouldn't have another until she was 78. Catie didn't seem to understand what I was talking about. I guess because she isn't cool and so doesn't listen to records from the 1950s like I did. Green Grow the Rushes-o. What a banger.
Mum told how excited dad was when she turned 81 as he could tell everyone she was nine squared. I out-nerded my dad by saying I'd have said she was three to the power of four.
This is the kind of bantz that will surely convince Catie that she really did choose the right person to marry.
My mum is used to my dad but wearily explained that every time he has to give his email address in shops he explains why he chose the number 343 to be in it, to the boredom of the checkout workers. I expect most of you have immediately realised.
Yes that's right, 343 is seven cubed.
Dad seemed very pleased with this, but didn't really give a good reason about why that was significant. He mumbled something about 7 being lucky. I'd have thought 777 would be a better number to choose.
Anyway, as I say, what a birthday treat.
Mum had made Catie a cake, but couldn't find a candle with four on it, but she did have a 9. So she made it say 5 x 9 (the x crudely made by two candles fashioned into a parody of the cross that St Andrew died on). It looked like the cake was proclaiming that Catie was 59. Luckily she quickly spotted the back reference to breakfast and was polite enough to appear amused.
Thank goodness she married me before she realised how nuts my family are. Also before she realised how nuts I am.
Phoebe gave up on metal detecting and has been using the last couple of days to dig as deep a hole as possible. She started this because she was looking for a treasure chest, which let's face it would be buried deep. She has hit clay now but is still persisting. It looks a bit like a meteor has hit the garden.
She's no longer looking for treasure, just trying to dig the biggest possible hole to surprise her grandma. If I needed any proof that this kid was mine (and I do a bit as she's actually cool, unlike me or her mother, so I am not even sure she's Catie's).
