Happy Birthday

I celebrated my birthday recently and with it came interesting revelations. First, in showing my son the math to determine your age, I discovered I am one year younger than I thought. That was the best birthday present I received this year.

My boyfriend candidate, just like he did at Christmas, asked what one should give the most fabulous woman in the world (me). I told him very directly what I needed or could really use to improve my and my family’s life: a family membership at the Aquarium or Science Museum, a gift certificate for eyeglasses, babysitter credits, a brown handbag or even a promise that he would never run out of wine at his place. I hate it when that happens.

Instead, he sent me flowers. A beautiful huge arrangement. To my office. With an “I love you” balloon attached.

The flowers are dead now. The balloon never made it out of the mailroom. That "love stuff" is too much information. And now my life is no more improved than it was before and neither is my opinion of the B.C.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the flowers. Everyone in my office was impressed. It’s just that now is not the time. I need things, I don’t want things. So why did he ask, if, in the end, it didn’t matter?

I sort of mentioned the irony to him and he said “Those seemed like things you needed. I’m not going to get you something you need.”

And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the heart of my relationship woes with this man.