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It's our birthday month!

This is not Monte Alban's bouquet. Not at all. (Though his birthday does fall in June too. Perhaps we should regard the baby's breath portion as his, seeing as how he's going to eat it anyway. And then barf. It's the gift that keeps on giving, really.)

Multiple sets of our friends independently came up with the "birthday month" concept. (Or maybe they stole the idea.) It started with one adult member of a household requesting that the other adult rinse the dishes (or walk the pugs, or take out the trash), and said other adult responding, "Oh, but it's my birthday month."

Depending on where one's birthday falls in the month or one's preference, your birthday month can be the calendar month or the two weeks prior and subsequent to the birthday. "Birthday month" accords special chore-dodging privileges in the mind of the birthday-haver. I think the birthday non-haver rolls his or her eyes and the birthday haver still has to do the chores, but nice try.

"Birthday month" doesn't really work in our house, because the only creature who does not have a June birthday is Sparky the cat. He's more of a chore generator than a chore doer anyway. Sparky's birthday month is unknown, but he was born in the summer too. Maybe we're all born in June.

Oz and I were discussing the feasibility of sticking the cats with the chores. He said, "Hey! It's our birthday year!"

That means no chores ever. Right?