I looked at the everlasting calendar this morning to find the exact date for a friend’s birthday, mainly to see if there was time to send a card or if it would have to be an email.
“It is March, isn’t it? Goodness, 27th already.”
A vague thought entered my head: isn’t there some special date in March?
“Beloved, we forgot our anniversary.”
“O dear, so we have. I do apologize. I remember mentioning it earlier this month, but then it totally slipped my mind.”
“Don’t worry dear, I forgot too.”
For the first time in 27 years of marriage we both forgot our anniversary. No matter, we shall have a slightly belated celebration.
Contrary to Paltrow and Martin and their ‘conscious uncoupling’ - ( have you ever heard a more pretentious way of announcing a divorce? Are they a train?) - we shall stay together.
Actually, I blame having two gardeners for our absentmindedness: it is totally confusing to have them turn up on two separate days of the week, stay for three hours and disappear again. It means that I have to be around, ready to work alongside them, make tea and conversation, answer questions and make suggestions, listen to gossip, give instructions and have them gently ignored in favour of each gardener’s ‘better idea’ and make sure their dates never clash, twice a week.
One of these days I’ll have to come clean, if only for the sake of my marriage.