"Date Night"

Michael and I have this inside joke (half joke/half serious, if I'm being honest) that I need to text message or email him about conversations that I plan to initiate in the future... 

So I can inform him of what the proper response should be.

I have conversations in my head all the time, and when the real conversation doesn't go like the version in my head, I get a little perturbed.

When I come downstairs in a new outfit that includes either:

1. Boots

or

2.  Any manner of superfluous belt (a belt added merely for style purposes.)

I warn him in advance.  It's kind of like I Cc: him on the conversation in my brain.

Text Message to Michael:  From Your Loving Wife:

"I will be coming downstairs in five minutes and the proper response is:  Wow you look ravishing.  Those boots make your calves look so slender and shapely.  And that completely unneccesary belt looks amazing.  It's like you walked off the pages of a magazine."

This makes for a very harmonious marriage. 

It is in this very harmonious state that I sometimes forget that he can't read my mind.

Which can, on occasion, lead me to behave in ways that are...unflattering.

Me: "Hey babe, I have to work next Wednesday night."

(Secret test.  Will he realize this is our anniversary?)

Michael:  [cocked eyebrow] "I know, I guess we'll have to celebrate our anniversary a different night."

(The look on his face says, "Ha, crazy bitch be tryin' to test me.")

Me:  (In my brain) "Ahh, very good, Grasshoppa."

Me: (out loud) "We don't have to do anything.  It'll really just be too expensive."

Me: (In my brain)  "We could get a babysitter and go out to a nice dinner and exchange nice, thoughtful gifts."

Michael:  "We could just do cards if you want.  You don't have to get me anything. Or we can make each other something!"

Me: (In my brain) "Son of a bee-sting, Abort mission! Abort mission!  Nope. I want a real present.  From a real store.  With a real receipt.  And dinner that I didn't cook.  Where no one poops their pants at the table."

Me: (Out loud) "Yeah, cards are good.  We don't need to do presents."

Me: (In my brain)  "Oh my God.  It's only been three years.  And we're already stopping presents.  We might as well just start separating our DVDs."

Michael: [genuinely happy]  "It'll be great!"

Me: "Yeah, Wooo Hooo.  Great!"

Now, I have two choices:

1.  I can be a nice person and be grateful.  Grateful that I have a wonderful husband that I get to celebrate any anniversary with. 

or

2.  I can go crazy. 

But not obviously crazy. 

That would be too easy for Michael to decipher. 

I must go secretly crazy and reveal my frustrations through snarky comments about strangers on Facebook. 

I enjoy really making him dig to find the root of the crazy.

I really should not be allowed to go on Facebook when I'm not in a good mood; the mere existence of other people in the world, doing fun things, instantly pisses me off.

"Oh, look at you stranger, on your date night.  Please tell me, what is this date night that you speak of?"

"Oh you have free babysitting!  Tell me about how great that is.  And then kill yourself."

"I sure hope you don't choke on that chicken parm at your 'nice dinner out with friends'!"

"A long weekend away with your husband.  Please do enjoy!  It would be terrible if your plane crashed."

Me: "Oh look babe, look at these people on a date night, isn't that adorable!"

"When was the last time we had a date night?  Oh I remember!  After I had Adeline and they wheeled me down to the tiny, "mole-people" post-partum room we ordered Jimmy Johns and had it delivered!  That thirty minutes she was in the nursery was really wonderful.  Just the two of us.  Does that count?  I suppose for fifteen minutes of it you had to help me to the bathroom.  It was so chivalrous of you to stand there while I changed my peri-pad so that if I fainted from blood loss I wouldn't fall off the toilet.  So romantic, wasn't it?!"

Michael:  "I get it. We'll do presents."

Me: "Okay, only if you really want to..."

Happy Anniversary to the most patient, wonderful man in the whole world.