Why I Am THE: Worst. Wife. Ever.

So...I could brag to you all about how brilliant I am for successfully smuggling booze onto the cruise ship. (Not so much really. I'm actually the dummy because I was the only person who even bothered to hide it - everyone else just put it in their suitcases.) I could tell you the fun story about how some poor, pathetic, newlywed bridezilla was so bitter that she felt the need to bitch me - me of the I've-just-had-40-beers fame - out for saying something about Gator football games to her dad. WTF? I could tell you how I really wanted to go outside this evening and bludgeon the teen that was riding the jacked up motor scooter around and around and around and around the block. Sounded like a two-seater plane buzzing my house every 2 minutes. I could tell you about the job I impulsively applied for, and how I am scared that I did it. I'm scared if I don't get it. I'm even more scared that I will get it. I could tell you all about how I am getting really, really worried about how I seem to be forgetting stuff lately. A LOT of stuff. Stuff that happens one a week like soccer practice. Stuff that happens every year.

But instead, I'm going to tell you why I am the worst wife ever. My husband is the best. Best father in the world. Handsome and in great shape. Utterly patient with me. Doesn't make me get a job. Doesn't seem to mind too much that I'm overweight. Lets me go on cruises - or pretty much wherever I want - whenever I want. Is sweet and fun and smart and noble. I honestly could not ask for anything more - he is the total package.

So here's how I thank him: I forget St. George's Day. (I can't get the damned link to insert, so you'll have to copy and paste the old fashioned way: http://www.ctspanish.com/festivals/stgeorge.htm) This is a little tradition he started years and years ago, while he was in Grad School. He had a classmate from Spain that told him about St. George's Day. Since Valentine's Day is Bart's birthday, he always felt I was getting a little cheated. So he started St. George's Day. Obviously, that first one 13 or 14 years ago, I didn't participate in from a giving standpoint. But every single year since then, we have surprised each other with little gifts. Usually there's a book (in the St. George's Day tradition), and sometimes more. We never, ever discuss St. George's Day. It's just always our little special thing that we do to surprise each other every year. Every year since 1996.

And I forgot.

It's in my calendar - April 23rd, in red ink. Not that I should even need a calendar - I know this date. So imagine what a complete heel I felt like when he walked in - after a 14 hour business trip, no less - and presented me with my St. George's day gift. A book. And a Vampire book at that.

I am literally crying as I type this - that's how awful and shitty I feel. He's so awesome and I suck. He does everything for me, and I can't even remember to appreciate him enough to get him a little something on our one special day.

He's probably read this and tell me how silly I am and how it doesn't really matter. But I know it does. I know it would to me if I was on the other end. So all I can say is "I'm sorry. You deserve much better. I love the book, and you too."

I gotta go get some Kleenex now - the front of my shirt is all wet.