I’m married to a guy who regularly forgets birthdays and anniversaries. After so many years, I don’t bother to make a big deal of it anymore. If it matters to me a lot, I’ll just announce the date ahead of time so we can plan something nice. I’ve learned not to expect surprises for these special days.
A few years ago we were in the middle of a flooring renovation. The carpet was pulled up revealing a shocking amount of sand and grit on the plywood underneath. The new hardwood went on clean and shiny. The job was nearly finished; only the stairs left to do. I went into town to run some errands—among them, bringing back a few chocolates for a Valentine’s Day treat—and returned just as the floor installers left for home.
My husband met me outside by the garage. “You can’t go up the stairs. They’ve got a coating on them. It has to dry overnight.”
“How do we get to the kitchen then? Or the bedroom?”
“Come this way.” He led me around to the front of the house where a ladder was propped up to the deck railing on the second floor. “Climb up and I’ll hold the ladder.”
I chuckled at this bizarre way of entering the house. “This is like eloping, only in reverse.” I scrambled over the railing and turned to steady the ladder from the top as my husband climbed it next. He opened the deck door to the kitchen.
I was still chuckling over how we climbed up to the deck. “Like a couple of teenagers.” Then I saw the vase on the island. “Oh, wow! Look at those roses.” That earned him a hug and a kiss. Then I saw behind the flowers, our favourite bottle of wine, and beside it, two steaks marinating in a dish. The Valentine card propped up on the vase had a funny, gushy message on it.
I was in a little bit of shock but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. “Well! For a guy who forgets important dates, you sure have redeemed yourself.”