Behold! This is what you get for Valentine’s Day once you have been cohabitating for 16 years, betrothed for the past 11 ½ of those years.
|It was with a totally innocent and dead-pan expression that #1Hubby advised me bikini clad Heineken promo girls were handing these out to anyone who bought two beers.|
This is what you get after waddling around with the literal weight of procreation for a total of 18 months, talented enough to do it with 2 of the little buggers weighing your girly bits down for half of that period of time.
This is what you get when you bite your tongue
for the most
part while smiling as your husband heads off
on yet another junket work trip, and leaves you to kid
wrangle by yourself, knowing full well they will likely see your demise within
those few days.
This is what you get after your husband knowingly forgets Valentine’s Day – which is actually okay and totally acceptable, since you both acknowledge that you’ve:
a) run out of clever and romantic ideas after the first 3-5 Valentine’s Days together.
b) run out of energy on account of the kids sapping the very life force from your being, therefore you CBF doing anything remotely romantic, lest it lead to the obligatory corresponding requirement for
putting out extra energy and exertion from your already
depleted supplies, later that night.
c) no money, no honey. If we’ve got a spare $5 we’re not going to waste it on a sappy and overpriced Hallmark card that neither of us really wants to add to our shit pile of cards that we know we should keep but will never ever look at again in this lifetime. Instead, there is always a bargain bin at a bottle shop somewhere, calling our name.
Sorry, went off on a tangent there. Where was I?
Ah yes, so this is what you get after your husband knowingly forgets Valentine’s Day – and then decides that he really should’ve got you something. Which he grabbed for free before parking his ass in his Business Class seat to swill wine and be pampered by pretty young hostesses, while you try and maintain your last shred of sanity as white line fever hits and you keep hitting the refresh button on the airline’s flight status updater – just in case his flight:
a) drops off the radar completely (in which case you book into a hotel, adjoining rooms with the lock on your side, and order up a metric gigalitre of vodka and a Nanny);
b) is delayed (in which case you still go to the airport at the designated time, kids in pyjamas, and feed them whatever inappropriate and over-priced crap you can find to shut them up while you pretend they don’t belong to you and sit a metre away in the café sipping a flat white);
c) whoop it up in rapture if his flight is expected to land 5 or more minutes early.
HE SHOULDN’T HAVE.
I KNOW PEOPLE SAY THAT ALL THE TIME WHEN RECEIVING GIFTS.
BUT I REALLY TRULY MEAN IT.
Take note, those of you who haven’t cracked the double-digits of wedded bliss just yet:
You may think Valentine’s Day is all about being loved up and cute
and nauseating, but eventually it
turns cunning and sarcastic and smart ass.
It truly is a magical time worth holding out for.
I am eagerly plotting and planning what to get him for next Valentine’s Day. Currently, I’m tossing up between:
b) a twin-pack of hair re-growth (for his chrome dome) and hair removal (for his chest…or other)
c) a subscription to the Justin Bieber Fan Club, complete with quarterly magazine and talking/singing welcome card
d) a 6 month ad in the Bi/Gay/Curious/Tranny section of the Personals