After celebrating my dad's birthday with my family this week I realized it's a wonder I still have any sentimental bones left in my body at all

My parents on a trip we all took to Europe four years ago to celebrate my graduation, Brett's graduation, and my parents' 25th anniversary*.

"When they have them, I just don't go."  - My dad, on what happens when people celebrate birthdays at work.

"I just think it's so stupid.  Everybody has one!" - My dad, explaining his take on birthdays at work/probably birthdays period.

"Then I got REALLY MAD at her." - My dad, summarizing his reaction after my mom called his office and said, "I called to talk to the birthday boy!!!"

"Good thing he doesn't care about wrapping." - My brother, when both of us showed up with presents in plastic bags.

"Here." - My mom, dumping a bunch of shirts onto my dad's lap--his birthday gift.

"Not these two." - My dad, when my mom asked if he liked the shirts.

"Yeah, I didn't like those either." - My mom.

"Feet." - My brother naming things that remain important despite everybody having them.

"These work, right?" - My dad, who'd been instructed to pick out a birthday dessert at Trader Joe's after diner, after bypassing the cake-like options and spotting these:

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And also:

"Happy 25th anniversary!!!!" - Me, this summer, to my parents.  Not only was it their 29th*, it was also the wrong day.