Yesterday was Nick’s birthday, and it was fun. The plan, as agreed on by him and his parents, was to go to Benihana for yummy foods with them, us, Gingy, and the Baron and Gingerninja. After, we’d retire to our apartment for wine and dessert.
With a game plan like that, it was entirely obvious to me that we (I) needed to clean our (my) apartment or we (I)’d be judged on its appearance, cleanliness, and lack of being completely moved into and no art or pictures or personal touches on the walls.  I work Saturday mornings, so I spent those hours itemizing what I needed to do once I got home.  Happily for me, an hour or so before I was done with my shift, Nick texted me an itemized list of what he had done to clean the house.  It was a good list.  I got home and we took a nap, by which I mean he stayed with me till I dozed off and then he went and played on his computer.  When we started to get ready, I started to panic. I hadn’t cleaned the house myself, we didn’t have enough art, our furniture wasn’t nice enough, I didn’t have any pretty clothes and couldn’t go buy any, Nick wasn’t helping me, and the world might have been ending.  Part of it was real panic and anxiety, but a good portion was low blood sugar and no protein.  I get mean when that happens.  Nick force-fed me a snack, and I got better and we went off to dinner.
Dinner was delicious, dessert was nice, we played a card game called In a Pickle, and Nick declared himself happy with his birthday. However, I felt, and still feel, a little grumped because his parents planned his birthday.  I mean, I’m his wife.  Granted, I’ve only been his wife for a month and a half, but still. I’m his wife, so shouldn’t I be the one planning special things for him?  I do tend to procrastinate, but I wanted to do something that he wanted to do, not just do something that I’d appreciate done for me.  I guess this year I did put it off, but I still am not super happy that I didn’t plan for him.

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