So, I'm 37.  My birthday ended with Delma housing a cupcake (that she frosted and then decorated by herself with almost an entire bottle of star sprinkles), a Lindt dark chocolate truffle (that I only gave her because I thought for sure she'd hate it and spit it out), and most of my piece of chocolate cake (that I was too busy chatting with my dad to notice she was inhaling).  She then spent over and hour and a half past bedtime singing and hooting and chatting to herself in bed before finally passing out.  That girl can really rock.
Delly has a habit of saying "my" instead of "I."  Like, "1,2,3 here my come!"  Or, "Oooh, my like that!"  In honor of her unique grammar and rock star lifestyle, Josh doctored a photo of Delly as a b-day gift for me:

Perfect.  37, here my come!
 
1 comment:
That's hysterical. Much funnier than those weird cat pictures everyone likes so much.
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