|Happy Anniversary to Me!|
I am a bit of a bitch…
It’s my thirteenth wedding anniversary and all day I have been waiting for my husband to acknowledge the fact.
But I feel a bit of a bitch about it.
I knew he’d forget. He has form.
But in my defence I did remind him on Sunday that today was our anniversary and that I expected him to remember.
However, things don’t work out as you’d wish. I wanted a phone call from him saying “Happy Anniversary Darling. I love you more now than I did then.”
Oh and a bunch of flowers.
I did such a ‘girl thing’. You know the one where you play the hurt party, the victim. Look how hard done by I am he forgot our anniversary the most important day in our combined lives. (She falls dramatically onto the couch her arm hiding her face as she weeps).
I should have just called him this morning and wished him Happy Anniversary adding that I loved him more now than I did 13 years ago. But I didn’t and in so doing allowed our special day to become a cliche: The One Where He Forgot...
I’m still pissed off that he didn’t remember and the only thing that is making me feel a bit better about it is that I of course now hold the moral high ground – but it is pathetic to go to these lengths. Playing games with people is childish in the extreme.
But (she says stamping her foot) I feel bloody childish.
He hasn’t made it any better by calling me from his digs in London, where he spends the week from Sunday through Friday, to apologise saying he didn’t do it deliberately.
“No, that’s not going to make me feel better,” I snap. “If you did it deliberately at least it would mean that you had at least thought about it!”
“I’m not going to able to get out of this am I?”
“Too bloody right you are not.”
We talked some more about mundane things such as the fact that our bank balance was about to suffer a rather seismic shift downwards as I pay out fuel bills, car insurance and school fees, and that I am about to embark upon a systematic affront on the aforementioned school regarding the education, or lack thereof, of our eldest son. Sending your child to private school is a bit like confronting the NHS the louder you shout the better service you get.
Then the call had to end abruptly as his landlady had supper and a glass of wine waiting for him and he felt it would be rude to keep her waiting…
Just as well I’d already had a half bottle of champagne really – off to finish the other half – Happy Anniversary!