Cakes And Pains

There was birthday cake last weekend. Mountain Girl and the Bass Player presented me with this cake on Saturday night. I would tell you what “DF” stands for, but I am clinging to the last wispy threads of my dignity.

There weren’t pains. Not really. I mean, other than my normal old lady pains.

Sometimes, our conversations go down weirdly lit paths that aren’t always comfortable.

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