Tag Archives: anniversary

Some Jokes Never Get Old

Friday night we took the subway to Recette, a posh restaurant in the West Village. We tried to blend in with the classy patrons: I wore a dress and clean socks and Sebastien combed his hair. I threw out my only topic of conversation during the subway ride to the restaurant so I was completely out of ideas. We occupied some time trying to decide on what to order and settled on the 7 course tasting menu.

While we waited for our food to arrive, I was sucking down water like crazy. Fortunately Sebastien likes to talk so I let him entertain arguments against raising the minimum wage and discuss criminal indictments at his old firm. I interjected with an uh huh or wow every now and then, but I’m sure he would have done fine if he were eating alone.

As each new plate of food arrived I could sense him tiring of carrying the conversation. Things went silent around the fifth course. I started to get nervous, which in my case means that my body acts out in strange ways. Not knowing what to say I grabbed Sebastien’s hand and leaned into the table to whisper in his ear. “I farted,” I said. We both started laughing and that’s when I knew it was going to be all right.

Hard_farting_little_girl_by_Basher_the_Basilisk

 

 

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Something to Talk About

Sebastien and I are going to a restaurant tonight to celebrate our anniversary. It’s great to know that he has yet to find my constant complaining about being bored or my baseless worries that strangers are going to murder me  grounds for divorce. And he doesn’t even mind spending time with me outside of the house. We spend weekends together going out to brunch or the movies or museums with friends. We have dinner together on most nights: sometimes one of us will cook and other times we’ll order in. And now that we are working close to one another, we can even have lunch together.

I get text messages from him at least once a week asking if I want to try out a new sandwich shop.

But the more often these text messages and dinner invitations come, the more I worry that we’re going to run out of things to talk about. We already discuss current events, talk about how great our cat is and complain about things that annoy us — one-ply toilet paper, money, people who walk around in flip-flops. So what more is there to say?

I try and bring good conversation-starters to the table, but my knowledge is limited. Sure I read the news, but I usually lose interest after  the first few paragraphs of an article. The last time we were out to dinner I asked him if he heard about how China put out a public service announcement about the benefits of smog… I had read a headline earlier that day.

“No,” he said. “What’s that about?” I wasn’t expecting this response.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Something they’re doing in China.” I started to worry that I misread the headline. “Maybe it’s in China, but it could be somewhere else.” Sebastien stared at me from across the table. I quickly shoveled a forkful of pasta into my mouth so I didn’t have to speak any more.

In preparation for tonight’s dinner I took the afternoon off so I could come up with topics of conversation. So far I’ve got a story on an ant that lets out a chemical so the other ants know they’re part of the same colony. But it turns out that ants from a different colony have learned to imitate the chemical so they can do a sneak attack. Isn’t that interesting? I think it’s old news but I just read about it today.

If all else fails I think I’ll pull the nearest fire alarm.

0MartinParr-4


A Bittersweet Reminder

I love mail. Whenever I hear the metallic clink of the mailman’s key opening our rusty boxes in the hallway I race to the door like a dog expecting the arrival of its master. Mail is what gets me up in the morning and what beckons me home at night. And I don’t care what kind it is either: magazines, Value Pak coupons, letters from my alma mater requesting donations because they think I am wealthy and successful thanks to the education they provided. Whatever it is, I’ll gladly accept it.

I find mail to be especially wonderful at this time of year because people send me cards and gifts and money for Christmas and my birthday.

The other day I received a catalog for 1-800-FLOWERS, the latest issue of The Economist and a card from my dad in the mail. I felt the envelope for money or a gift card, but it was too hard to tell. It was still a bit early in the season to receive something but my Dad always wants to be the first to get Christmas gifts our or to wish his children a happy birthday. I think one time he called me twice in January to wish me happy birthday for that year and for the following.

I dropped all of my things inside the apartment and ripped open the envelope, all the while guessing how much money was inside. Thirty one dollars for my 31st birthday, $100 for Christmas and my birthday combined…I couldn’t wait to see how much. But as I read through the first lines of the card, my mood turned from excitement to confusion.

WITH LOVE TO A SPECIAL DAUGHTER AND SON-IN-LAW the card read. It was white with pink roses on the bottom and there was an image of a sunset on the beach in the upper right hand corner. There were none of the usual holiday identifiers like Christmas trees or stars or even baby Jesus. And how did my dad find a Christmas card that was so specific to a daughter and son-in-law?

YOUR HEARTS HOLD ALL THE WONDERS THAT MAKE MARRIED LIFE SO GOOD

AND BRING YOU CLOSER EVERY DAY, THE WAY THAT TRUE LOVE SHOULD…

I opened it to the inside where there were two more pages of this cryptic writing. There was no check or gift card in sight. I shook the card like a monkey waving a banana peel, but nothing dropped out. Skimming the remainder of the words, my eyes moved over to my dad’s signature, above which it read HAPPY ANNIVERSARY.

I had completely forgot. Which is strange because we got married on the same day that Christopher Hitchens died and I swore that I would never forget that day.

*Take your time with that last joke, it took Sebastien a few seconds to get it, too.


Year in Review

Sebastien came home complaining about writing up year-end reviews for some of his work colleagues. He said it was a thankless task and really boring. Which reminded me that our anniversary is coming up.

For the past few days, we have received cards and emails from friends and family members congratulating us on our achievement. I never would have expected anything so nice, but I’m a little disappointed. I mean, what about the six or seven years I put in before we got married? Doesn’t that count for anything?

Of course, we don’t know how long we’ve actually been together because no one marked it on a calendar. But it’s been a long time. About three years ago we started telling people that we’ve been together for five years and it’s been that way ever since.

But now that we’re married, we can look up the exact date that the government so graciously offered to wed us. And perhaps we’ll even celebrate with year-end reviews.

We considered rating one another’s strengths and weaknesses for a few minutes and then decided against it. It was going to be too much work. And I already had a good idea that he was going to tell me that I’m lazy and I need improvement on getting things done. I’d write the same for him.

Usually one of us will start dinner and then at some point get bored and sit down to do something else, forcing the other person to get up and finish cooking lest the apartment burn down. It’s not perfect, but it works for us.

We probably won’t do any cooking for our anniversary. Maybe we’ll go to a restaurant if it’s not too far away. Or we’ll just order pizza.

marriage


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