My wife and I celebrated another anniversary recently. Well, I should say she celebrated it. I panicked and freaked out because I forgot to buy my wife something nice to “prove” to her that I love her. It’s not that I don’t love her enough to think ahead and get her something great, it’s just that this anniversary thing, I swear it comes around like once a year. I was still enjoying the fruits of last year’s gift, a trip to a bed and breakfast in Capitola (oh yeah!), and then suddenly I had to come up with something again? Something better?
The whole process is so counterproductive. Why do I need to go crazy every time an anniversary pops up—isn’t it enough that I haven’t left? It seems to me each time she wakes up and I’m still in our bed should be celebration enough. Funny how she doesn’t see it that way.
Obviously, I’m wrong on this argument, just like I’ve been wrong in every single argument I have had with my wife, whom I love, since the day I said, “I do”—which was just an abbreviation for “I do agree with everything you say, Honey.”
Since I had procrastinated on our anniversary gift (not true: You have to remember things in order to procrastinate them, and I just flat out forgot), my back was against the wall on A-Day, “her anniversary day” (it is never referred to as “our anniversary,” because it’s my wife’s anniversary). Unfortunately for my employer, when I screw things up at home, I really screw things up at work (by not showing up). So instead of going to work, like I am paid and required to do, I had to call in stupid. Calling in stupid is similar to calling in sick, only you don’t have to fake a cough when you call. I just told my boss the truth, “I can’t come to work because I’m a total jackass and I completely spaced on my wife’s wedding anniversary.”
My boss is a married man (completely beaten down from more than 30 years of marriage), so he was very understanding of my plight. “So you’re calling in stupid to work, is what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yes, put me down for eight hours of stupid leave time, and I’m going to try to make things right at the homestead.”
“Good luck, you poor bastard. Last time I forgot my wife’s anniversary, I had to barbecue hot dogs in the rain because she refused to cook and also refused to let me mess up her kitchen.”
“Are we married to the same woman?”
“We’re all married to some version of the same crazy woman.”
I told you my boss was an understanding guy. With work cleared from my schedule, I had the whole day to come up with something good. The only problem was I had no good ideas and absolutely no money in the bank to do any good with. I was good and screwed. Luckily for me, my wife is a terrible housekeeper and incredibly lazy, which meant that our house was a mess. Hold on, ladies! Don’t get your aprons in a knot over what I said about my dear spouse. I’m not attacking her; she would tell you the same thing. Housekeeping is not her thing. She hates it. I don’t hold it against her. It is what it is. We’ve been married a long time, and I compliment my wife on a daily basis: She’s beautiful, she’s a great mom, etc. But I certainly don’t wake up in the morning, go to the bathroom, and throw out a B.S. compliment like, “Honey, you do a great job getting rid of that ring around the toilet. I love you,” because she doesn’t know a darn thing about toilet rings.
She doesn’t enjoy living in a dirty house. She hates it. It’s just that she just hates cleaning more than she hates living in a dirty house, therefore we got ourselves a dirty house. As I walked down our hallway and tripped over a pile of dirty laundry, I realized my wife didn’t want diamond earrings or a trip to a fancy spa for our anniversary; she wanted me to clean the house. It wouldn’t cost me a dime, and I would keep her happy. It was a win-win situation.
I cranked up the stereo, ran around the house like a madman for six hours, and picked up, scrubbed, cleaned, polished, washed, folded, vacuumed, dusted, organized, squeegeed, swept, and mopped. I worked my ass off. My wife came home from work and was completely surprised by her gleaming clean house.
“Thank you! This place looks great. You hired a housekeeper?”
“No! I did this myself.”
“You did such a great job; you should do this more often.”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Thank you very much. You are a great husband.”
It was the greatest gift I ever gave her. It was also the most difficult gift I have ever given her. Next year, I’ll just pick up a pair of diamond earrings and call it done.
Later Rob did hire a housekeeper to help out around the house, but then he didn’t get credit for it since he “wasn’t doing the actual work.” “I write out the check—that has to count for something!”
