So Drew worked yesterday. Long night with a carload of teens who managed to get themselves killed and/or maimed by rolling their car on a straight stretch.
Normally, after a night spent scraping people off the pavement or putting their candles out through the roof, he would come home in the morning and nap a couple hours so he didn't have to spend the remainder of the day in a dream state.
But today was the start of my birthday beach weekend. So he had to come home, shower up and drive me and the dogs the two hours to the beach through heavy traffic until we hit Lincoln City where the heavy traffic met with Kite Festival traffic, creating a Perfect Storm of Impatient Through-Traffic Meets Frustrated Kite-Festival Traffic Looking For Street Parking. But then, once he got here, he went to the store to pick up wine and breakfast (and a little something in a bakery box), then went to the pizza place up the road to pick up dinner so we could eat dinner on our deck overlooking the beach.
Soon after dinner he fell onto the bed unconscious without lifting his feet up off the floor.
That's the kind of selfless servitude I have to put up with on my birthday weekend. I'm going to tough it out here for another couple of days.