There are only two women on this planet that have been willing to put up with the shenanigans, temper tantrums, goofy faces, oddness, smell and overall weirdness that I have subjected them to on a daily basis and not leave: My Lovely Wife and My Lovely Mother.
Today is My Lovely Mother's birthday. She turns 42. You may ask how the mother of a 36 year old man can be turning 42 on her birthday. The answer is "you're very rude, that's not the sort of question you should ask". More truthfully, it was because I once asked my mother how old she was and she said 42, so that's where it stuck. Over the years, I think it's gone as high as 46 and usually hovers around 44, but 42 is a nice number.
I remember her telling me that she has the same birthday as Abraham Lincoln. I asked her if she ever went to his birthday party. Apparently, they just missed each other.
She also told me that the sheriff never came to her birthday party, which as a child was awfully disappointing news because the sheriff has a badge and a gun and rides a horse. As a teenager/university student, not having the sheriff drop in on your birthday meant that you chose your neighbours well. As an adult, it meant that you didn't get woken up by the sheriff because you went to bed around 9:30.
So, My Lovely Mother (who I know is reading this because she's my mom and reading this is one of her jobs) Happy 42nd Birthday and I love you!