When she turned sixteen, only a few weeks into our relationship, I bought her a pair of black gerbils as a birthday gift. Looking back thirty-two years, I’m wondering now why I did that. Perhaps it was because, as a young boy, I had always enjoyed small rodents and of course she should enjoy them too. Or perhaps it was because I had a Bullsnake at home, and since snakes eat rodents, if things didn’t work out with the gerbils…well, you know.
Don’t ask me to explain the thought processes of a sixteen year-old boy.
She named them Fred and Wilma (or something like that), under the assumption that they were male and female. But within a few weeks, we discovered that the two were somewhat incompatible as cagemates, as one morning Diane woke to find that Fred had eaten Wilma’s tail (or vice-versa; in all honesty it was hard to tell them apart). Having one’s tail eaten off is apparently lethal to gerbils, as Wilma was dead, and within a month or two, Fred was a goner as well.
Some might argue it was a less than promising start to a relationship.
Despite this ominous beginning, she’s still around thirty-two years later. If you want to know how old she is, you’ll have to do the math yourself, because I’m not going to tell you. My point is that today’s birthday means she’s spent over two-thirds of her life with me, most of it happily married (I’m making an assumption here).
So Happy Birthday, Wife. Since you said we’re not exchanging gifts anymore, this is all you’re getting from me. I love you.
P.S. The two birthday cards you see up above were from her Mother and Sister in Minnesota. I shouldn’t comment on the ironic similarities (same envelope, same address, same color, etc.) or I’ll get in trouble with the NWQ and can forget about any hot-tubbing tonight, especially considering how she’s not obligated to put out on her birthday.