I knew it. I knew as soon as she opened the boxed that I had fucked up. Maybe it wasn’t the right color. Or the right size. Or maybe it was just something she found utterly atrocious.
Either way, I knew I fucked up.
“You hate it,” I stated plainly.
“No. No, I love it.”
“You’re lying. I can tell when you’re lying. You do this thing with your eyebrow.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You did it again.”
I am always horrible at gifts. I never get it right.
At least this year I got the date right. I’m horrible at birthdays and holidays. And don’t even get me started on anniversaries.
I really don’t know why she puts up with me.
“Why do you put up with me?”
“I told you, I love it.”
“Seriously. I never get this right. It’s always the wrong color or wrong size or…just something is always wrong. I’m surprised I at least got the date right this year.”
“I got the date wrong, too.”
“You were only off by one.”
“Well, I guess one day isn’t bad.”
“I was off by a week!?!”
“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Love, you’re bad with dates; I know this.”
“Shit, nervous people are bad with dates. Pre-historic writings are bad with dates. I suck at this. I’m like the shitiest partner ever.”
“Love, stop. You are not the shitiest partner ever.”
“Have I ever gotten your birthday right?”
“Have I ever gotten the present right?”
“I suck at this.”
“No, you don’t. You suck at dates. You suck at gift gving. You’re generally a slob. You spend too much time in front of the TV. You never order enough food when we go out and you always end up stealing half my meal. But you’re kind. You always tip the waiter at least twenty percent. You never buy me anything cheap for my birthday; I have the gift receipts to prove it. You always make sure to DVR my shows so I can watch them later. And you always are home at night to rub my back til I fall asleep. You are not the suckiest partner ever.”
“Really. Just… can you please try to at least get your clothes in the hamper. I’ll take care of the washing, but just get them into the hamper and not all over our bedroom floor. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes. And… can you secretly write your birthday on my calendar next year. One week?”
“I knew it was coming. It felt like a surprise, when you’d finally remember.”
“God, I suck.”
“Meh, I’ve had worse.”
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