Donald and I celebrated his birthday this weekend, and by “celebrated,“ I mean that he performed all sorts of manual labor and I took pictures of him sweating profusely. This morning, I had every intention of writing all about it, but I have a killer migraine. So instead I will leave you with this, an image of Donald doing what Donald does best: bend to his wife’s wishes. Or start the lawnmower. Either Iether. Maybe later I’ll show you all the crap shots I took when I was trying to get some sunflare and wound up with my husband, the headless yard worker.
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