Today it was my darling K's birthday.
He is not at all like I am. If it was my birthday everyone would know about it. I tell people for weeks and weeks before my birthday so they are in absolutely no doubt at all by the actual day, that it is my birthday. I exact a high proportion of good wishes and congratulations and make sure that I celebrate.
In contrast, my SO is very modest and quiet, and hates to be the centre of any sort of attention.
Because I have been unable to get around and about by myself over the past few weeks, I had to ask him to take me shopping to the local supermarket so that I could get him a card.
"It's okay, my darling," he replied so sweetly, "You don't need to get me a card."
"But I really WANT to get you a card!" I cried. And if I'm honest with myself I was a little bit pouty and huffy until he gave in and drove me to the supermarket, where there were some really lovely cards, but In the 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE ONE I LOVE' section, I've already bought him most of the range. So there was a choice between a small card with two tatty teddies hugging on a tatty hammock, OR an ornate, gilded, rococo-designed large one with fairly sterile and bland sentiments. I chose the latter. Anything is better than those bloody teddies.
This evening we actually went out for something to eat, to a well-known faux Mexican chain restaurant with stripy awnings. It's renowned for being a monstrously busy one, so when we arrived very early in the evening, and the vast car park outside was deserted, we thought we would be fortunate enough to get a table quickly, particularly on a Monday evening. Not so! Inside, the tables were heaving and we had an half-hour wait just to be seated. But it was a fun evening and I had a very indulgent cocktail (more alcohol!) and the food was tolerable. Once again, it was all about feeling normal again, having fun and not thinking about treatment or cancer.
Fewer painkillers again today.
A baby panda keyring arrived in the post from my friend T, and I have named him Gervais.
No comments:
Post a Comment