The wife and I celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary on Sunday by having brunch at one of those semi-fancy new places that offers a limited menu and small portions compensated for with hefty prices. Good food, but we left hungry and a little broker.
But for dinner, she cooked a rack of lamb and bought a couple of bottles of lambic framboise beer. I baked a loaf of bread and shucked a couple of ears of fresh sweet corn.
We ate like millionaires and, I swear, I dreamed that night that we got married in an enormous, elaborate Mormon temple.
I think I am turning into Mitt Romney.