Hey.

*poke*

Andy.

*poke poke*

WHAT.

So what are you getting me for my birthday?

It’s a surprise.

That’s what people say when they don’t really have a gift yet.  Right?

Nope.

Will I like it?

Uh huh.

Will I love it?

Sure.

Will I like it more than the kids?

I would hope not.

ANDY LOOK AT ME.

What!? I am trying to sleep!

Is it clothes?  Because you probably don’t realize this, because my sizing is really elusive, but I do most my shopping in Juniors.  So, it really is best to not buy me clothes, because my frame is very unique.

Right.  It’s not clothes.

Did you get a tattoo of my face somewhere like the guy who plays Tori Spelling’s husband?

No.

Is it a poem?

No.

Good.  I fucking hate poems.

I remember.  I wrote you a poem when we were 17 and you laughed and told me if I ever wrote you a poem again you would kick me in my vagina.

Is it jewelry, because it’s hard for me to wear jewelry at work?

And, by work, do you mean watching DVR’ed Cosby Shows and laughing at stuff you write on the internet?

Is my gift being insulted?  Is this an early birthday present you are giving me right now?  Because you totally already got me this for Christmas when you said my green beans tasted like a homeless man smells.

It’s not jewelry.

Is it a dolphin?

Did you want a dolphin?

I want everything on my Amazon wish list, Andy.

Obviously I didn’t get you a dolphin.

What’s the point of even having a pond then?!

This could potentially be the worst birthday ever.

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