Yesterday was hubby’s birthday. Now seeing as less than two weeks ago he completely forgot mine (left: photo of moi upon realising his oversight) this presented somewhat of a philosophical/moral/bitchy dilemma. Should I:
a) ‘forget’ his birthday in return b) act like normal (i.e. pretend his forgetfulness never happened) c) go all out in making him feel spoilt, loved and utterly birthday-ised to make a guilt-inducing point.
I phoned a friend.
Frankie: ‘You should hire a marching band.’
Lock it in, Eddie.
And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury…Tim’s ‘you should feel bad because you forgot your wife’s birthday and look at all you get’ birthday bonanza…
freshly made pancakes (ehem, as opposed to his morning dash to Hungry Jacks to bring me back my birthday treat of a $5.95 big brekkie….ugh please don’t even get me started)
new jeans and a funky t-shirt that make him look even oh-so-hotter
a chocogatto (icecream covered in hot chocolate with peppermint sauce) at a lovely Southbank cafe which looked far too swanky for us increasingly white trash hicks
a popcorn riddled trip to the movies
a surprise birthday dinner with gourmet entres provided by Mango Lick, drinks by Frankie & Joachim, salad by Ang and Micko, roast for seven by moi and home-made (ehem, okay packet mix) chocolate birthday cake.
In his words, “the best birthday I can remember.” Which, given the low memory his brain computer seems to run on, is not necessarily as much of a compliment as may be intended.
So yes, I rock, but not really. I mean, I certainly went all out and while I actually did enjoy making his day so nice, I must come clean and admit that I initially only did so to prove a point. See, I’m not really that nice after all.
And while we’re in the mood for honesty, I guess…hmmph…I actually enjoyed yesterday. Just a bit. I do love hanging out with Tim. And friends. And roast…