Tag Archives: Embarrassing

Surprise! Happy Birthday! You’re a Jerk!

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Since the day we married, my husband and I have struggled with my birthday expectations.

Whereas his family trained him to point out the exact item he wanted, my family’s gifts were always a surprise.  I got everything from underwear from my two aunts, to broken toys given by a little brother.  Somewhere in the pile of gifts wrapped in Sunday’s comics I’d come across one or two that not only surprised, but delighted me.

I expected that when I married, the tradition would continue.  For some strange reason, when my husband married, he expected his tradition would continue. Weird.

So, after years of receiving gifts such as a belt clip to hold my cell phone and a calendar from our health insurance company, I surrendered. “Just don’t get me any gifts – ever!”

This year, two weeks before my birthday he said, “I was going to surprise you, but–”

“WAIT!” I shouted. “Dont’ say ‘But’.  I want to be surprised!”

“But…you might not like it.”

“Well, duh. That’s pretty much the definition of a surprise birthday gift.”

“But…it’s expensive and it doesn’t make sense to waste that money.”

Sigh. “Go ahead. What is it?” I asked.

“A hot air balloon ride.”

“Are you kidding?” I screamed. “That would have been a PERFECT surprise birthday gift.”

In his defense, he had scheduled me for the sunrise ride which would entail me being awoken at 5:00 am.  That would not have been a nice surprise for either of us.

After all the fuss, the hot air balloon ride was cancelled due to high winds. Feeling a bit sorry for myself, I awoke the day after my birthday in a foul mood (okay, I felt more than a bit sorry for myself.)

Husband and I were sitting in our sunroom reading when he said, “I thought we’d go to dinner tonight to make up for the balloon ride.”

I immediately perked up. “Great! Where?”

“The mexican place down the street.”

“No. I’m trying to eat healthy.”

He set his stubborn jaw and said, “Well I want to eat Mexican food so that’s where we’re going at 6.”

“You’re a jerk!” Okay, I didn’t say that out loud but I thought it.

At 5 o’clock my stomach started growling. “Hey, lets go now,” I said. “I’m hungry.”

A repeat of the stubborn jaw look. “Well I’m not hungry yet so we’re going at 6 like I said.”

You’re a jerk! my petulant child thought and I climbed onto the couch to kill an hour watching some bad tv. When Husband sat down next to me, I scooted to the other side of the couch.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Wrasser, frasser,” I mumbled.

We waited out the hour in silence. At precisely 6 pm, I climbed into the driver’s seat of our car and honked. We made it a few blocks away when Husband said we’d have to turn around because he forgot something.

“No way,” I said. “I’m starving. Whatever it is, you can’t possibly need it right this moment.”

Stubborn jaw. “I do need it.”

Tires screeched as I made a U-Turn and raced back to the house. He returned to the car carrying a grocery sack. Great, I thought. He got me a gift from the grocery store.

When we arrived at the restaurant he told the hostess, “I have a reservation.”

My mouth dropped open and I stared in disbelief. Really? A reservation? Do you know how many hours I’ve spent at restaurant bars nursing a diet coke waiting for our table because he refuses to make reservations?

“Okay,” the hostess responded. “I have it. For eight, right?”

Eight? Why would it be for eight?

By now, you’ve all figured it out, but clueless me was still too cranky for anything logical to enter my brain. It wasn’t until we walked to the table where I discovered two of my brothers and their families.

“Surprise!” They shouted. “Happy Birthday.”

Husband reached inside the grocery sack and removed a luscious chocolate cake that was placed in front of me.

While they sang the Happy Birthday song, I said to myself, “you’re a jerk!”

I’b Been Sick Wid a Code

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I feel really guilty for not posting to my blog for two weeks, but I’b been sick wid a code.

And since I’ve had nothing to do but lie around thinking about ways to make myself more miserable I’m going to share some of my worst thoughts.

When I was a kid, I remember Mom sitting beside me keeping a cool rag on my head as I moaned in pain from strep throat or holding my hair back as I threw up.  She was that kind of parent.

Unfortunately for my son, I was not that kind of parent.  As I’ve said here before, if you’re ever in need of medical care – don’t call me.  While Phineas leaned over the toilet spilling his tiny guts, I’d be in the hallway calling out “Poor baby!  I’m sorry! [gag] Let me know when you’re done.”

Which reminds me of another miserable memory of my first attempt at drinking. I consumed an entire pint of peppermint schnapps.  My boyfriend – later to be my husband and even later to be my ex-husband — was afraid to be caught by my parents so he pushed me through the front door, ran back to his car and drove home.  I’m told I spent the rest of the evening worshiping the porcelain throne (as my dad called it), but I can’t say I remember it.

The next day, Dad sat me down in the living room.  He’d set up a TV tray in front of him with a blue Tupperware tumbler and a glass.  Picking up the tumbler he said, “You know, Teresa, some people’s bodies are like this plastic cup.”  He threw the cup across the room where it bounced off the fireplace, sounding in my alcohol soaked brain like cannon fire. “They can do whatever they want to their bodies and they will be fine.”  Then he picked up the glass. “You? You’re more like this.  If I throw this glass, it’s going to shatter. Is that what you want to do with your life, Teresa? Shatter it?” I was so thankful for his great advice; I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

And here’s another story to prove my wretchedness.   When Phineas was in his first year of college he came home complaining of stomach pains.  Assuming he’d experienced an evening much like the one I described above, I put him in bed and left town.  He called several hours later to say the pain was worse. I called my good friend, Sharon, explaining that Phineas was probably just hung over, but could she go check on him.  A call from her confirmed that she believed he was very ill.  In fact, she was driving him to the emergency room.  When I arrived, the doctor took me into the hall to say that Phineas was suffering from appendicitis and that immediate surgery was required.

Here’s where I wish I could tell you my sweet mother inhabited my body and showed me what to do.  Instead, The World’s Worst Mother spent ten minutes trying to convince the doctor that Phineas had a really low tolerance for pain and he’d be fine.

Fortunately for me, the doctor ignored my motherly unconcern and took my son in to surgery, where they removed his appendix right before it ruptured.

Why am I sharing these horrible stories about myself? Because I feel guilty – REALLY GUILTY – for not writing my blog for two weeks and, as every good Catholic knows, penance is the only way to a guilt-free life. Besides, you wouldn’t have read this if I’d printed three Hail Mary’s and two Our Father’s, would you?