Yesterday was my birthday and there wasn't a whole lot of fanfare. And that's ok as I'm not a big fan of being the centre of attention. The best part was having Stella sing Happy Birthday to me about a dozen times. She was WAY more excited about my birthday than I was. Other than her homemade card, my other gift was from my husband. I woke up to find a small pink envelope on the kitchen table. There was a cute card and....wait for it....a gift certificate to the book store. Needless to say, I wasn't super thrilled. I thought to myself, and even said it over dinner that I wasn't excited about getting a gift card. It was possibly the most unthoughtful gift you could give someone, especially your wife. Maybe I was bitter on my birthday, or maybe PMS-y or maybe just ungrateful, but I actually told him that he should of just got me nothing.
So today, I took a long shower and steamed about the gift card sitting the kitchen. I decided I would show him and go out shopping for books while he watched the kids.
It wasn't until I was strolling through the isles, browsing all the glorious books that I realized what he had done. It was pure genius....and I'm sure he didn't plan it that way. Or maybe he did. But either way, that insensitive gift card turned out to be one of my best birthday presents. I can't explain the feeling of reading titles and scanning covers while strolling through each isle, wandering aimlessly through seas of hardcovers. There were no screaming kids (at least not mine), no snatching breakables from toddlers, no trying to scold my child quietly and no rushing from the store surrounded by tantrums. It was heavenly!
Who knew what a gift a few hours alone in a bookstore could be? Not only did I score some pretty sweet titles, but I also enjoyed an afternoon of unfettered freedom.
So yeah, Michael, if you read this...you can call me a jerk. And I'm sorry.