He won't be retiring officially until the end of this year but the need to celebrate his time serving us was meant to be outdoors in temperate weather rather than butt-deap in snow.
When I say temperate - it was warm-ish but it rained like hell there for a bit but didn't dampen (get it? dampen? hahaha) our spirits. Besides the food was great and apparently so was the hooch.
The setting was outstanding. Tim's pals, the Lickleys, have a piece of "the good earth" out on A-37 and it couldn't have been more perfect.
|See what I mean?|
|There were photos on the tables depicting the "young" Tim and the, uh, uh . . . more "mature" Tim.|
|Here he is in the flesh. Handsome sucker isn't he?|
So, naturally, after we'd greeted the guest of honor I asked him if he'd look down my shirt.
Before I knew it, he'd whipped out a flashlight (does he always carry one?) and so did my husband (does he always carry one too?) and both lights were focused on my, well, chest.
It only bothered me for a nano-second that he complied so swiftly and then I thought, well, who wouldn't want to look at my chest???
He dispatched his diagnosis and remedy swiftly and Petey and I relaxed knowing the "doc" was right and I wasn't going to die an ugly death.
And the bug bite (which, I might add, grew to be 5 inches long and red) slowly disappeared after ample applications of a baking soda paste.