S.I. (It’s the Gift that Just Keeps on Offending)


(written and spoken with a Clint Eastwood tone) Don’t call me James. My name is Brittney. Don’t forget that.

Luckily, my wife doesn’t read my blog.  Therefore, I know she’ll be surprised by the gift I shall deliver on her birthday, which is about to round third base and head home, thanks to the Fed Ex driver.   She will receive a year’s subscription to Sports Illustrated, including a free tote bag and the annual swimsuit edition.  (Sadly I won’t be gracing the swimsuit edition cover this year.)  Hopefully, this will make up for the four dollars and ninety nine cents I spent on her three year anniversary gift. (She didn’t know that a coffee mug traditionally represents three years of semi bliss.)  I will knock her out with this tote bag, representing twenty seven years of periodically forgetting how to spell her name.  Or, perhaps, she will knock me out of the parking lot.

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