Irony

Andrew likes to tell a certain almost 4-year-old story about us. It goes a little something like this:

My Dad had come to see me in Maryland, and Andrew and I had been dating for about 5 months. Dad had never really met him, so he took the two of us out to a local folky Italian place. The food was excellent, conversation was awkward, and it was moving time for me. Back at my apartment after dinner, Dad asked Andrew to hand his dessert to me so he could help Dad carry moving boxes up to my apartment. All was well until I tripped over the curb and sent Andrew's Neapolitan Cake flying onto the sidewalk where it met a sweet and chocolaty death. This occurred in January of 2005.

Tonight, we had dinner with my parents out in Reynoldsburg to celebrate Andrew's (31st!) birthday a weee bit early. We ordered dessert and the story from above was told. Again. And we laughed at me. Again. Then we got home. I drove, Andrew got out of the passenger's side door and promptly fed his caramel pie to our sidewalk. What is it with us not being able to hang on to leftovers? I ran inside to call my parents and leave a voicemail for them. Andrew was defending himself the whole time, saying his hands were full, whaa whaa whaa.
It was funny!


Who's laughing now, Birthday Boy???

PS, I love you.