Yeah. Didn’t have one of those days. Not even kind of. This was, officially, the worst birthday Brant and I have “celebrated” since we began dating eight years ago.
A). He had to work. And that doesn’t mean he was scheduled to work. It means someone asked him to trade weekend shifts, and he failed to realize his day o’ birth fell within the aforementioned weekend, which in my opinion is way worse than just being scheduled to work in the first place.
And 2). Because we’re on a budget he only got one gift. And it was a gun (lame). And he picked it out himself (lamer). And he was fully aware that he would be receiving it on his birthday (lamest).
Finally C). His birthday fell on a Sunday. Boooo**. Work and church on your birthday!? No gracias!
And to top it off, I forgot to get him balloons. I was so caught up in the “his gift/birthday are already taken care of, what with the gun and all,” mindset that I completely forgot to buy any awesome balloons, or even make a Happy Birthday banner. Enough of the verbal onslaught I can feel radiating through my monitor. I’ve already given myself Worst Wife Award.
So that’s it. Brant’s sad birthday tale. I’m hoping things will go better next year, but I already have the watch he picked out and subsequently ordered for himself for next year’s birthday in my top dresser drawer. Oh, well. Here’s hoping.
**To be read the way the scary old lady yells “Boo” at Princess Buttercup when PB dreams she’s already married Prince Humperdinck. You know what I’m talking about. And if you don’t , then immediately go rent/download/purchase it because not having seen it makes you un-American. Or a Communist. Or both.