Birthday Shenanigans

My favorite husband had a birthday recently. For three months, I’ve been asking him what he would like for his birthday, but he always says: “Oh, I don’t need anything, just some time off to do the things I like to do” like fishing, golfing, hiking, you know, guy things. It seems we have reached that stage in life where, if we want something, we go out and get it.

So the day came closer and closer and finally I decided what I would do. I would buy him a really nice bottle of Scotch whisky. And some Tequila (because he’s been making margaritas to go with the yummy dinners he makes on his new grill). And then I stopped and picked up some stunning dark chocolate delights (to go with the Scotch…chocolate is fantastic with Scotch). And I made a pretty card. I said I’d take him out to dinner at my favorite, expensive French Restaurant in Old Town. IF he could get off work, that is (he’s part of a government task force on the BP oilspill so you know he’s a busy camper).

I arranged everything on his chair for him to see when he came in the door. He calls: can’t quite get away from the office. Scratch dinner out. He’ll bring home steaks to put on his new exciting grill. Great! I’ll make the shrooms and salad. Then he calls again. Nope. Doesn’t have time to grill either. He’ll bring home sushi. Wow! It’s his BD and he’s bringing home the sushi. He didn’t want me to go out and do anything because he just didn’t have any certainty about timing (queue the vision of a beautifully coifed and dressed, patient wife sitting at a stunningly set table with lit candles and fantastic dinner … souflee, maybe?... and no husband).

He then calls from the sushi restaurant. He says he’s next to the ABC store and thinks he’ll just pop in for some more Scotch and some Tequila. Why don’t you just come home, I ask. But I’m next door. Aw, don’t bother, I say, it’s your birthday. No big deal, says my husband, I’m right here. But why don’t you wait until I can come with you because I’D like to participate in choosing for once. Actually, I don’t care because I trust his judgment, but I said it really passionately, hoping he would believe I’ve been feeling left out of the process. Oh, he says, I’ll just go in and look around.

Some time later, he walks in the door, sushi bag in one hand, unmistakable black ABC bag in the other. He takes one look at his chair and says: “Oh! I see!” I told him he’s the doofiest doof I know! After I relayed this story to a colleague, he told me that what it says is that I know my husband’s likes very well. I got him something he wanted.

Happy BD, favorite husband.