Greetings, gentle readers!
It is my sad duty to report, reluctantly, there is still no progress on a proper tenth wedding anniversary gift for yours truly.
A wise person once told Satan and me that a husband has two choices in marriage. He can either be “right” or be happy.
Ya’ll. Poor Satan. He is still right.
To tell you the truth? I probably would not have escalated this whole situation to public blogging status had I thought he was TRULY SERIOUS about neglecting to mark this important marital milestone with some sort of sparkly. Frankly, I thought I’d write a funny entry, he’d buy me something, and that would be the end of it.
As it is, I’ve tried to help him extricate himself from this mess. I’ve gone so far as to specifically point out the exact sparkly that would make this whole situation go away in a hurry (and, trust me, it’s not EVEN extravagant considering the occasion).
Despite my help, he continues to make alarming pronouncements such as, “I won’t be buying you an anniversary gift.” Also, just plain, “No.” Or, puzzlingly, “I’ll buy you a birthday gift, but NOT an anniversary gift.” Or, annoyingly, “I bought you an XX dollar dinner, isn’t that enough?”
And, frankly NO, that isn’t enough, and if I’d known I was, in effect, EATING MY OWN SPARKLY, I would have high-tailed it out of the restaurant double-time.
Now, I’ll just be honest, a girl can get mighty depressed in a situation like this. Despondent. Weepy. She could even, God forbid, begin to slowly die inside (sniff!). Refuse to make pancakes. Even hum “The Way We Were” quietly to her sad, sad little self while concocting delightful, but sadly underappreciated, dinner salads. And generally continue in a downward spiral.
As it happens, I recently had dinner with the first Mrs. Satan (also a reader of this here blog). She was appropriately horrified at my lack of blingage to mark this important occasion. And, after some consideration, she recollected only receiving two anniversary gifts from Satan herself. They were: 1) A tool belt. 2) A tarp.
And we all know how that ended up.
So, if you see Satan out there looking dazed and disoriented (and, face it, doesn’t he always?), give him a ride to the nearest jewelry store, would ya? He needs your help.
In other news, I've just made the happy discovery that Nora Ephron, writer of "When Harry met Sally" and "Heartburn" two of my ALL TIME favorite movies has her own blog. HOW I was not made aware of this sooner is simply beyond me. Nora has a new book out called I Feel Bad about my Neck which is now officially at the top of my "must read" list.
I discussed Nora's new book and just her overall grooviness with my Mom recently and we are in agreement that she must be added to the guest list of our "fantasy girlfriend lunch". The (constantly changing) list currently reads:
Before her untimely death, Jackie O was, of course, a must-have and Janeane Garofalo USED to be on the list, however, since her stint on West Wing during which her eyebrows looked exactly like furry black paralyzed catapillars glued to her forehead, I'm not so sure. Cybil Shepherd is a definite maybe. Shirley is only still hanging on by a thread since the publication of her book, "Out on a Leash" in which she details actual conversations she has with her rat terrier, "Terry".