A new story. Actually several stories that speak to a man that knows me very well. This week we celebrated 41 years married. He knows how to aggravate the hell out of me and how to use that to his advantage. In other words, “How do I make her think I don’t care, that she is making a mountain out of a molehill, or that I may have almost forgotten a birthday or an anniversary?”
1. Happy Anniversary: I come home from work and we are supposed to be going out to dinner However, it’s his day off and he is lounging on the sofa watching TV. Doesn’t look like he’s planning on going anywhere…. I start huffin’ and puffin’ asking are we going or not or are we just going to do nothing because if you want to do nothing that’s just fine with me but I hope you have something planned for dinner because, in case you forgot it is our friggin’ anniversary and I sure as hell… (most of this in my head and not out loud. I’m not that stupid.) Dan, from the sofa, says, “I just need a shirt ironed and then I’ll be ready to go.” A shirt ironed, really? You’ve been home ALL day and you want ME to iron YOU a shirt. I swear to (as I slam open the closet door)… Sitting on the closet shelf are a dozen red roses….
2. Happy Birthday: In the practical years of our marriage (meaning with kids) birthdays leaned more toward what would make my busy life easier versus what frivolous, just for fun thing do I want. This particular year I wanted a Dustbuster. Yes, I am very serious. A Dustbuster, at the time, was the best little battery operated vacuum thing on the planet. Great for those little spills of Cheerios or clipped doll hair. Please don’t buy me flowers. They just die anyway. So what did he buy me? Flowers. Sigh. Thank you, honey, they are beautiful, honey. So sweet of you to remember, honey (teeth now gritting). Dan: I’m glad you like them! Hey, would you mind getting me a beer?” Really? He seriously, seriously, seriously, knows what pushes my buttons. It’s my birthday, and, obviously, he pays no attention to me because if he did he would know that I really wanted that (when I’m unhappy I whine a lot in case you didn’t notice)…sitting on the shelf of the refrigerator was a Dustbuster.
I should have known better…
3. Happy Birthday: Some of you know this one. My 58th birthday. A few days before then I got together at a friend’s house for a girls night. We were going to cook and laugh and just hang out. I got there a bit early and one by one the others began to arrive. I got a text from Dan. He was working an event at the church and had split his pants. He couldn’t leave because there was too much going on and he couldn’t sneak out the door to go home. Would I mind running home and bringing him a pair of pants. I don’t know why this didn’t sound crazy to me. I mean it did, but it was Dan and life has never been dull. So I made my apologies, said I would be back as soon as I could, went home, got the pants and brought them to the church. I’m calling him to meet me outside so I can hurry up and get back to my friends – no answer. So I have to go in and bring him the friggin’ pants. I walk in and it’s awfully quiet if there is a party supposed to be going on. And then I see a sign that I can’t quite read yet. Then I see one of the women that I just saw a few minutes ago. Then I see Dan and he walks me around a partition…SURPRISE! Yes… a surprise party – with all the women I was going to spend the evening with and their partners plus a bunch of other wonderful souls. Oh and the sign…it said Happy 60th Birthday! 60th??Um, Dan? 58! 58 – NOT 60! Yes, he knew, but 58 wouldn’t be funny. A 60th surprise birthday party for your 58th birthday? Now that’s funny – at least to Dan…
Happy Anniversary, Dan. Thank you for making it always surprising. ❤️💕
From my heart to yours, Diane