sovay: (Lord Peter Wimsey: passion)
It is my father's sixty-fifth birthday. 1952 was the year with the highest recorded incidence of flying saucer sightings in America, so we got him the most alien-looking branch of orchids in the shop. [personal profile] spatch and I have been designated in charge of the kitchen and are about to embark upon a program of chicken piccata and fettuccine alfredo by request. I leave you with a photograph from earlier this afternoon: Hestia catches up on her reading.

(Will she be too distracted by The New Yorker to pester us about chicken when we get home? Don't quit your day jobs.)

[edit: We got home at eleven o'clock at night to discover that someone had hinged the right-hand door of the pantry open and someone had gotten up onto a shelf from which it was possible to hook down the plastic-wrapped sachet of catnip and someone had fiended so hard she threw up on the dinner table, so, no, she did not pester us about chicken.]
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