Now That's Just Mean

Janey, Janey, Janey --

*sigh*

I've tried diligently (and mostly successfully) to refrain from any kind of judgement about you. I don't even know you! And if I were to judge you based on the little I know firsthand, I'd have to say, she's a very nice woman! (you were very nice to me the one time we met. of course, that would be because you don't know that I'm the one who sucks on your husband's dick). Otherwise, the only thing I know about you is what your husband tells me. And frankly, most of that is just bitching, so I take it with a grain of salt. Since I'm well aware that he has his side of the story and you have your side of the story, I'm also aware that the truth of your marriage probably lies somewhere in between your stories.

But.

First, yesterday I asked him how his weekend was. And for the first time ever, he came right out and said, "Not good." And he looked down and shook his head, and looked so sad. So I jumped right into CheerYouUp mode and said, "Well, at least your birthday is coming up this weekend -- do you have nice plans for that?" And he said "Well, I don't know if my family is going to be around to do anything for me. I think I'm just going to go up to West Point by myself."

WHAAAAT?

Now, birthdays don't mean all that much to me -- at least mine doesn't. If someone says, "Happy Birthday" to me, that's enough for me. I don't really need all the hoo-hah and fussing. I go through the 364 other days of the year feeling like I'm pretty darn blessed to have the friends I have, so the big birthday celebration doesn't need to happen any more (not the way they used to, anyway). I mean, a few years ago, I didn't even mention my birthday until the day OF, when a friend called me to wish me the big HB and asked what my plans were. I was, to be honest, surprised. I was just going to go home and have a quiet evening. Well, as the day went on, more and more people called and wanted to know What Are You Doing For Your Birthday? Finally caving in to the inevitable, I invited everyone over to my house for a spur-of-the-moment birthday party. I went to Popeye's on my way home and bought a couple buckets of chicken and mashed potatoes, called my favorite wine store and had them send over a case of wine. And before you know it, I was having a party. (Ended up being a blast, by the way). But if the night had ended up with me watching TV and going to bed early, that would have been okay, too.

But I know that birthdays mean a whole lot to most people. They want people to make a fuss and practically have a parade in their honor. Okayyyyy. If your birthday is the one day a year that you get validation that your existence has value, then so be it. I'll play. So I acknowledge it for other people, and I know what it means to them.

But back to F. I mentioned our conversation to his assistant -- she's not really his assistant, she's actually more than that, though he would never say so, but I don't know what else to call her here, so for my purposes, she's his assistant. And she said that he had said something to you about taking the kids out on Saturday to a show. Now, Saturday being his birthday, a decent human being would say, "Hmm, it's my spouse's birthday, let me set that day aside and not make any plans." But apparently you sent him an email -- you communicate with your husband by email? What the hell is wrong with you? -- and said that your daughter had plans and that you had made other plans.

Nice. Real nice.

So, your husband is going to spend his birthday alone (going to West Point, apparently).

Now, the eternally hopeful part of me wants to believe that you have done all of that as a decoy because in reality you are throwing him a surprise birthday party. God, I sure hope so.

Because if you could have seen his face when he was telling me about going to West Point by himself on his birthday because his family couldn't be bothered, it would have broken your heart. I know it did mine.

Here I go again, getting all teary eyed thinking about someone living a life in which he doesn't believe that he is loved. I truly believe that he thinks that.

I hope you aren't that cruel, Jane.

P.S. I fooled around with your husband last night and I think I made him feel a little better.