He's 34 years young.

We had dinner last night at the Melting Pot for Bob's birthday because I assured him there was no better way to celebrate his entrance to middle age than with fondue. Lovingly, I pointed out he should savor crunchy fruits and vegetables dipped in chocolate and cheese, while he still has teeth of his own. Although he could barely hear me plead my case for fondue because he wasn't wearing his hearing aids, he did agree. We took our baby Clover with us and left JOTS with grandpa. She was not as hip to the MP as her elderly father and I were, and a person really does need the use of her hands to dunk the goodies, so I didn't get to enjoy the full, luxurious dining experience. My old man did help me out by taking control of all 4 dipping skewers, then putting some on my plate. I repaid his kindness by reminding him that soon enough he would need me to return the favor and I would gladly feed him his (pureed) supper. I then reminded myself that I am only 7 short months behind my husband in age, and my womb is shriveling up with each passing second, so there will be no future babies chaperoning us on our special occasion dates. This sad realization made me willing to sacrifice a little fondue for my sweet little girl.
We followed up our meal with a trip to Goodwill, shopping for kid's books and clothes. Because obviously, after dropping $120 on dinner, we had little money left for poor JOTSC and their summer wardrobe. Besides, we're not young whipper-snappers anymore who need wild romantic adventures which are not good for the (literal) heart, so a calm jaunt to Goodwill is right up our alley.
The best part of the entire evening was when I asked the waiter (who happened to be 22 years old) which birthday he thought Bob was celebrating. He smiled and gave him a good once-over before answering "44" supplying me with ample laughter and razzing material which lasted the whole evening long. Funny funny stuff there.
AB (ancient Bob) and I had a great time and I am really glad he is my old(er) man.