Yesterday was my husband’s birthday. He turned 47 – I almost have shivers when I think of him almost being fifty, it seems unreal. We are getting old…er. It is inevitable. We’re doing it well, at least I think so; plus it’s all-natural.
Saturday night we went out for dinner and some dancing with friends. We had a great time. The food was ok and the music was good, and since we felt like partying a good night was had by all present. I did order the $50 cake for Hubby’s birthday for all to share. It wasn’t a cheap evening, but at least we had fun.
Sunday, the actual birthday of my beloved, was a quiet day at home. We got yet another proof of our aging… the day after a night out is harder than it used to be… A few people called to wish him well. All day, every time the phone rang I hoped it would be him. It wasn’t. He didn’t call.
Maybe it is a woman thing to think of these things? I know I’m the one who remembers dates in our couple, but I was raised like as well. I attach importance to birthdays. Every year, while living at home, I had a birthday cake and a card. When I moved out, I still got my card. I enjoy getting cards, e-cards, emails, phone calls, fax whatever… something showing you thought of me on my day. Call it childish, I don’t care.
I know it’s not my business, and yet and can’t help to feel angry and somewhat hurt. How can he forget his own son? He has one child, it’s not like they’re fifteen of them and he can’t remember which one is when… Hubby says his dad is a doorknob. He is. I know. Doesn’t make it right nor does it excuse it, in my book. I feel like giving him a call and ripping him a new one… What would you do?