Birthdays rule

The oldest little boy that lives in my house, Pete, had a birthday yesterday. This provided his dad, my housemate, the opportunity to get a gift for him a month ago that would enrich everyone's lives: a Wii. Don't you hate those gifts, those that were given because the giver wanted them more than the receiver? Pete didn't care. And today he had a party. By the time I got up this morning both his parents had combined to clean the kitchen, the bathroom, even the intimidating dining room table. There wasn't an ant in sight! He invited a bunch of classmates, all of whom were cute as pie, and we played soccer, and ate hot dogs and watermelon, and they had a massive water balloon fight. His mom tried in vain to establish order and rules in a game format involving the balloons, but there was a whined "awwwwww!" of disgust that could be heard clear over in the next neighborhood and the game quickly became established as a free-for-all. Then Vegan Rob showed up, the vegan weighlifter that was featured in one of the premier weekly newspapers in Portland this week. He's a longtime friend of the family, so he dropped by to say hello to the kids and the their parents. He quickly became a target of every kid's waterballoon, and was forced to take his shirt off and run around the yard, dripping wet.

To reiterate (that phrase will forever remind me of an evil 1sg of mine, so I apologize for using it, in case it brings up unpleasantries in your life, too.), the house was cleaned spotless and a weightlifter ran around my yard without a shirt. I've instructed Pete to have a birthday at least every other month from now on.