Happy Birthday, Bubbles!

The recalcitrant brother and I wanted to name the youngest in our family “Bubbles.”  For some reason, even though the tie should obviously go to the cutest, we were not allowed to pick out the Butcher’s name, and instead, he got an enormous name that only Biblical scholars can spell right on the first try.

It’s funny.  I have an easy enough time complaining about him when it’s warranted, but when I sit down to try to say nice things about him, it’s really hard for me.  What can you say about a man who left his home so that you could follow your dream?  Where do you even start?

I owe him, in part, for all of my success. 

I love that guy.

Happy Birthday. 

5 thoughts on “Happy Birthday, Bubbles!

  1. Calling The Butcher "Bubbles" is just magnificent.It’s as good as calling my massive bearded oft-grumpy uncle "Squeak," which only his three sisters can get away with. (He thumps any of the brothers who try it.)Bubbles. Heh.Wait a minute. Isn’t that the name of the big FBI guy in "Lilo and Stitch"? Cobra Bubbles?Woo!

  2. Ha, I wouldn’t dare call the Butcher "Bubbles" to his face. Crickey.No, he went to Red Lobster earlier. We’re going to some Chinese restaurant he likes.

  3. Creepy. Just creepy.Your birthday is the day before mine.Butch’s birthday is the day before my dad’s.It’s like we’re living in The Prestige.Happy birthday, Butcher.

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