My Birthday is next week and thinking about it I began reminiscing (not in a soft focus, doe eyed kind of way, but more of a reminder that I shouldn’t get my hopes up this year) about my 32nd a few years back. I know it wasn’t a big one like 1 or 18 or 30, just plain old boring 32 and I wasn’t planning to make a fuss or demand fabulous presents or breakfast in bed, but I can’t deny some nod to the day I arrived in the world would have been nice.
However, having married a Balinese man I seem to have forfeited all rights to spoilings on my birthday. Celebrations and presents are for the Gods silly! Not only that but Balinese birthdays come every 210 days so requesting gifts every 365 days just proves how bad at maths I really am.
The worst thing about this whole husband ignoring my Birthday thing is that there is no rhyme or reason to it. Some years I get a present, some years I don’t. As much as I love being kept on my toes, playing along with my darling husband with a “Oh, it’s ok you forgot my birthday my love”, being presented with a surprise is much better than getting nothing and then having to pretend not to be angry because I’ve already said it’s no big deal.
Husband 101: teasing, even unintentionally when it comes birthdays is bad. Continuity is key; either do something or don’t but don’t let me be get all hopeful and then end up disappointed.
Every year I think back to the fluffy little chub of a puppy that was pulled out of a backpack on my birthday 10 years ago when we had been together for just over a month. Surely starting with the bar so high was either a monumental mistake or some kind of man trickery.
I have to admit, there is always a happy birthday and a kiss and sometimes I am also allowed to request that a bit of facial hair or dreadlock maintenance is undertaken (his not mine).
However, the best gift my husband gave me was one he didn’t even know he was bestowing upon me. On the evening of my 32nd birthday I was needling him (just a tiny bit) about how he had been a bad husband and he said, and I quote, “I’m just not that into it”, meaning my birthday. A bit pissed off and taken aback at first, I realized that he had just given me grounds for refusal to not do a million things…and laugh about it.
I’m just not that into doing the dishes today.
I’m just not that into hanging the laundry.
I’m just not that into cooking dinner tonight.
I’m just not that into letting you go out drinking with your friends tonight.
The list could go on and on (evil cackle, fade to black)