We
have an anniversary coming up. As usual, John
will forget and I'll wait til after 10 pm when
the stores close and smile pretty and hug him
and say "Happy Anniversary, honey." I
love to watch his pupils dilate and his face
blanch as he hyperventilates. Then he quickly
looks at his watch. Without fail.
Too
late.
I
smile to myself, knowing the gift check he's
about to write as a consolation prize will be
bigger than usual.
John
forgets important dates like birthdays, Mother's
Day, Christmas, Valentine's Day and
anniversaries. He remembers the ACC tournament,
the World Series, The Marlin Fishing Tournament,
the World Series and the Super Bowl. Those dates
are carved permanently with laser precision in
the innermost regions of his brain.
We'll
be celebrating our 40 something anniversary in a
few weeks. I'm not sure which anniversary. And
it's either on the 20th or the 21st of the
month. I always have to check my calendar. I
forget.
But
wives aren't supposed to give anniversary
presents to their husbands. It's a guy thingy.
They should be so grateful we married them that
they plan way ahead for gifts, saving their lawn
mower money and Christmas bonuses.
Not John.
To
prove my point, here is a comparative list of
traditional Anniversary Gifts suggestions:
MODERN
LIST
JOHN'S
LIST
1st
Clocks
1st
Tire
gauge
2nd
China
2nd
Motor
oil
3rd
Crystal
3rd
Steel
wool
4th
Appliances
4th
Paint
thinner
5th
Silverware
5th
Minnow
bucket
6th
Wood
6th
Vice
grips
7th
Desk
sets
7th
Carburetor
8th
Linens,
Lace
8th
Diawa
reel
9th
Leather
9th
Shrimp
net
10th
Diamonds
10th
Battery
charger
Our first anniversary was celebrated at the St.
George Hotel near New York City. John
confidently placed our order for lobster. We
were still in college and this was our BIG NIGHT
OUT. We stared at the lobster in front of us and
didn't have a clue.
"Ask
the waiter," I whispered. John shook his
head. No way. Men don't ask directions and don't
ask waiters how to eat lobster.
Staring
at the Homarus americanus crustacean, I figured
there must be some edible parts somewhere in
that thing. John looked at the lobster and saw a
week's salary.
Finally,
he silently beckoned to me and we got outta
Dodge. I mean we left the lobsters intact and
untouched. He drove directly to a diner and we
had a liverwurst on rye.
Hey,
he didn't earn the title "The Last Of The
Big Time Lovers" for nuthin
