Happy Friggin' Birthday, Again

Cakes are fattening, and at a certain point pose a fire hazard.

Birthdays are such a burden in a marriage. Not only do you get a year older, but if it's not your birthday you have to come up with a gift for your spouse. Why that is I'm not sure, since the celebrant did absolutely nothing of merit and was simply expelled from the birth canal many years ago, in this case more than half a century. Big deal, like he even had a choice. Plus the fact everyone hates getting older and would lie about their ages like we did years ago before that damned Internet made it impossible. It seems to me that birthdays should just come and go quietly without a peep, but thanks to Facebook that is also impossible, and Mitch being such a great guy, I'm betting he gets more than a few of those automatic "Happy Birthdays!" in his news stream tomorrow.

He's not getting this....

Yes, tomorrow is my husband's birthday. The only thing he wants is the same thing he always wants and never gets: a motorcycle. As usual I think of surprising him with one, and this year I even did some shopping around, but then I think how sad and ironic it would be if he were in a crash; how would I feel? On the one hand, if he died I would get quite a windfall from his life insurance policy, which pays double if the death is accidental. But what if he doesn't die and instead is simply maimed, or lingers in a vegetative state for years? Surely we can all agree that would be a bummer.

...or this.

So now I'm back to square one, wondering what to get for someone who already has everything. I could make a donation to his favorite charity, but let's face it, how much fun is that for the birthday boy? If it were winter I could get him a sweater--he does not own even one--but in summer, getting a sweater is a big fat drag and only spells delayed gratification. If he were a normal person I'd bake him a cheesecake or an apple pie, both of which are my specialty, but since he's committed to always "eating well," he'd likely take it as an insult.

I guess I'll do the usual out-to-dinner, bottle-of-fancy-wine and dumb-drugstore-greeting-cards and call it a day.