No Party For Me, Can I Cry?
This is it, the last week of my thirties. I’d like to be able to say I have special things planned, but no such luck. TR starts school this week. I’ll set up home school lesson plans for SW. And I think RM has a doctor’s appointment. What do you think of that for exciting?
I don’t even have any plans for my birthday itself. Early in July, I gave up on hinting and told my husband I wanted a party. No one has given me a party since I turned 13 years old. He doesn’t do hints, subtle or otherwise, so I straight out told him that I wanted to know that someone in my life cared enough to go to the trouble of giving me a party.
But he didn’t do a thing. His excuse was, like it usually is, that “things happened” and he didn’t get around to it. I’m not sure what those things are, other than spending hours managing his seven fantasy baseball teams, or watching as many games on TV as is humanly possible with basic cable. It certainly isn’t because he spends ridiculous amounts of time helping with the housework or taking care of the yard.
After seventeen years of marriage you would think I would have expected this. Yet my feelings are still hurt, more than a little. After all, I’m turning 40, it’s a big thing.
I need to give up the pity party, and just go do something special for myself. After all, in November he will turn 50, so I can get back at him then.
I won’t though. I’ll bake a cake, make a special dinner, and try to get a few friends together for him. I’m funny that way.
