Birthday Queen

Today is my birthday--thank you, thank you. Let us all ponder the terrified 24 year old girl who gave birth to me in the atrociously sterile and father-unfriendly conditions of the 1970s. Thank you, 24 Year Old Who Was, for going through all that. I appreciate it.

And thank you to Benedict Ambrose who took me out for a boozy lunch today and gave me a pin shaped like a bee.  B.A. is the best of men and has learned over the past six years that neither taking me for a boozy lunch on my birthday nor giving me a gift of some sort causes thunder, hurricanes and violent cold snaps. I mention this only so that readers do not think that once they are married, their relationship work is done. No. Even the best of men sometimes have to have it explained to them twice or thrice that some things are very important, and celebrating birthdays on the actual birthday is one of them--at very least to me.

Celebrating Valentine's Day is also considered very important by many married women, but as a matter of fact, I always spend V-Day with readers instead. Of course, a valentine and flowers, no matter how small, are always appreciated. Wedding anniversaries are also important in the Historical House, although more low key than my actual birthday. Without me, B.A.'s birthday would be low key because---get this---he is a man and "Men don't care as much about birthdays." Did you ever? I can't quite believe this, so he gets a boozy lunch or a party and a present too.

As everyone says, in a good marriage you have to communicate and say things like, "I understand that you don't care so much about your X, or see the point of Y Day, but my X and Y Day are incredibly important to me, so I would be very grateful if you would remember to celebrate them. Otherwise I will go into a snit that can be cured only by a very expensive afternoon at the beauty shop."  It is much more loving to speak up, every year if need be, than to stew in disappointment and rage.

That said, you also have to pick your battles. Personally, I do not care if B.A. leaves cups and saucers all over the house, or has three water glasses on the go in the bathroom, or uses every single pan in the house to make supper. Washing dishes is my job, so I just collect 'em all up and wash 'em. I don't see any point to complaining. I save complaining for really important stuff, like his suggesting we celebrate my birthday on some other day.

Naturally I am not perfect, so B.A. also picks his battles and complains about things that are very important to him, and after unfairly grumping about it, I apologize and try to do better. And that reminds me that the dishes have silted up in the kitchen, so I had better log off and wash them.