Family Snippets - 14. Anniversary Anguish

I hate my wife.

“Happy anniversary!” Janine said, as she pulled a present and card out of the wardrobe and tossed them gently onto the bed next to me.

Hating your wife on your fifteenth wedding anniversary is not normally the done thing. I would have to say it probably rates very low on the Political Correctness scale. That is, unless the two of you had agreed not to buy each other presents, and you’d adhered to that bargain, while she hadn’t. In that case, every male in the universe will understand how I felt.

“Thank you, honey,” I said, trying to project as much cheeriness as I could possibly manage.

I took the opportunity while unwrapping the present to think furiously about what I could get her as a “surprise” present when I came home from work that day.

I still hadn’t come up with anything special when the last of the paper had been removed. She’d given me a box of chocolates.

Staring down at my stomach, and straining to see past it to my toes, I wondered if this was her way of telling me that I’m not fat enough. Of course, it could be just that she wanted to show me how much she loved my by giving me the most scrumptious, mouth-watering, beautifully presented collection of Swiss chocolates available in Australia, but I discounted that possibility as being remote.

Naturally, it also meant that I couldn’t buy her chocolates as my return present, but I’d already eliminated that as an option. Janine has been trying to lose weight, and a box of chocolates would not have been helpful with that goal.

It was as I was driving to work that morning that I thought of buying her some flowers. It wasn’t the most imaginative present in the world, but it was an old favourite because it really was successful. I would continue to try to work out something better, but I had a fall-back position that meant the pressure was off me.

Janine must’ve been bored at work because mid-morning I received an email from her, asking how my day was going. I considered replying with the truth, that my day had started poorly but was improving as time went on, but even I’ve learnt a few things after fifteen years of marriage, and I told her that it was an okay sort of day.

At lunchtime, I visited the closest newsagent and scanned through the set of anniversary cards. There were many magnificent ones to select from, but as they were all from a wife to her husband, I didn’t think they were appropriate for me to give to Janine. There was a paltry four to choose from for a husband to his wife.

I stared at them for a long time. I stared at the huge range of cards for wives to give to their husbands on an anniversary. I stared back at the four cards I had to choose from to give to Janine. Was this some great conspiracy at work? If so, what did it mean? There was the simplistic answer that the card manufacturers knew that men would just grab the first card they looked at and decide that one was good enough, so why develop a large range, but I didn’t think that was likely. The obvious and sensible answer was that women didn’t need to receive anything special in the card department because the mere fact that it was given with love was enough for them. I deliberately chose not to think about what that said about the huge selection of cards for the husbands to receive.

So, I grabbed the first card I saw, decided that it was good enough for Janine, and bought it.

Feeling pleased with myself, I headed back to the office. After spending many long seconds to compose a suitable statement to put inside the card, I picked up my pen and wrote, “Happy Anniversary! Love, Graeme.”

Smiling, I examined what I’d written. It showed elegance and poetry in the way so much was portrayed with so few words. I was confident that Janine would find it a very moving expression of my feelings for her.

I then rang the florist near our home to check what time they shut. I frowned slightly before making the decision to leave the office a little early that day. It would be a disaster almost of the scale of Cyclone Tracey if I arrived home without a gift because the florist was shut.

Janine chose that moment to ring. Apparently the computer systems at her work were out of action and so she was a little bored and told me she was just ringing to see if anything interesting was happening at the office. I suspected she was really trying to work out what I was getting her for our anniversary, but since we’d agreed that we wouldn’t get each other anything, she couldn’t come out and simply ask. Naturally, I worked out what she was up to and carefully avoided any mention of my preparations.

I was in that state of mild euphoria from having a well-thought-out plan that was progressing nicely, when everything went off the rails.

“Er... Graeme?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“There’s something here for you.”

I looked around to see a large box of flowers sitting on the desk behind me.

Staggering uneasily to my feet, I took the two steps necessary to pick up the card embedded in the middle of the horticultural masterpiece.

“Happy anniversary, Graeme. I hope you’re surprised. Love, Janine.”

Muttering obscenities under my breath, I dialled Janine’s number. I took a deep breath as the phone began to ring.

“Janine speaking.”

“You shouldn’t have!” I said, trying to sound cheerful and surprised.

“You got them! I’ve been waiting all morning for them to arrive. I was beginning to think they wouldn’t get there until you’d gone home.”

I thought to myself that that wouldn’t have been a bad thing. At least that way I could’ve bought her some flowers and felt happy at having given her something for our anniversary.

“They’ve just arrived.”

“Do you like them?”

I opened my mouth to respond honestly, but fifteen years of training kicked in.

“They’re great!”

Technically I wasn’t lying. The flowers were great. It was Janine managing to trump me a second time on the same day with a present I wasn’t supposed to be getting that wasn’t great.

Fall-back present number two time: alcohol.

At least with a bottle of good quality Australian sparkling wine, also known as champagne despite that name being illegal if it wasn’t from the appropriate part of France, I would be able to drown my sorrows and pretend to be happy.

“Well, I’ve got to go now. I haven’t been able to get any work done while I’ve waiting for them to arrive. Bye, Graeme. Love you!”

If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m madly in love with her, I’d hate the conniving, sneaky, underhanded so-and-so.

“Happy anniversary, Janine!”

If she has a bottle of champagne in the fridge when I get home, I’m not going to be happy.