Today is my husband’s birthday. He is exactly eleven months, two weeks, and four hours younger than me. He looks a lot younger than that; stress has taken its toll on my small frame. (He is also almost twice my weight and a foot taller.)
We’ve already decided on no birthday gifts this year, and Christmas may be out as well for the two of us, but I’m planning to bake an apple pie and round up something special for dinner. He, like I, enjoys good food, and while I watch his diet fairly carefully (he’s maybe only slightly overweight for his height–despite what the damn Nutrition course said), now and then we splurge on butter and salt to enhance the pleasure (you can take that as a metaphor, or not).
We’ve been through good times and some tough ones, and though we married late in life, we were each the first–at least marital–partners for each other. One of the nicest things about all this is that while we want to be together, we don’t need to be (although in truth I believe that he’d have to learn to wash dishes or find someone if he didn’t have me).
Enough. I think I’ll go wake him up with a backscratch. That’ll mean more to him than any goddamned tie.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Happy Birthday! Your Birthday celebrations sound a lot like ours. :o)
Thanks! Nothing like a favorite meal and the comfort of wearing slippers at the dinner table.