Know what I’m really bad at?
Besides following that rule that forbids ending a sentence with a preposition, I mean.
Remembering people’s birthdays. Not my children’s, of course, because apparently once someone has been ejected from my body, that date stays with me.
But the people whom I did not birth? Problem.
I have three good friends and we all email each other constantly. Except they totally ganged up on me and all have birthdays in December.
And I have no idea when in December.
So every December I email P.K. to ask when Jon’s birthday is, email Susan to ask when P.K.’s birthday is and email Jon to ask when Susan’s birthday is. You’d think that after years of this they’d send me unsolicited reminders, but some people are so passive aggressive.
Yesterday, I emailed P.K. to ask when Jon’s birthday will be and she writes back more appropriately, you should have asked when WAS Jon’s birthday. It was December 15th.
Great. Through no fault of my own, I missed Jon’s birthday. Which of course leads to the inevitable I’m sorry I missed your birthday email. Which I sent this morning:
so sorry that I forgot your birthday, and I know I did it last year too. It’s all my fault, please don’t blame yourself for being born on the wrong day. My problem is that I don’t write the dates down. Because I’m a moron. But happy, happy birthmonth! I bet it’s hard to share it with Jesus.
(btw, when are P.K.’s and Susan’s birthdays?!)
As you can see, I’m the real victim here.
And if you’re wondering why don’t I just write this stuff down, it’s because I’m superstitious. Like I’ll write the date down for the next year and then one of us will die and the writing it down will be for naught. Because that’s the real tragedy of a sudden death, the wasted effort of having jotted down a date. But the way I see it, I’m saving lives. And isn’t the gift of life the best one that I can give to my friends?
So, happy birthday Jon, Susan and P.K.! And you’re so welcome!
One year ago ...
- I'm Right, You're Wrong. - 2011