It’s my wife’s birthday today, and I want to wish her the happiest birthday of her entire life. It’s the least I can do. Really. I can’t get her a present, because I’ve spent all our money on hunting licenses, fishing tackle, GPS receivers, guns, bows, tents, and other gear. Granted, that stuff’s all absolutely essential, and I actually got some of it for her, whether she knew she needed it or not. But it just doesn’t leave much left in the billfold for the other things she probably wants.
I always feel sorta bad this time of year when I realize there’s only a buck or two in my checking account. I’d like to send her off somewhere for a nice, relaxing day at a spa, where they do all that mysterious stuff. She’s surrounded by guys here at home, and I think she might like to have a few hours in a place where people aren’t belching, breaking wind, tracking mud across the floor and generally being pigs.
I used to think she encouraged me to get outside and go hunting or fishing just to get me out of her hair for a while, but after nearly 15 years of marriage, I realize her reasons are a lot more selfless. She actually wants me to do stuff I like to do.
Sure, I need to mop the kitchen floor after I track mud across it, I need to clean the sink after I fill it up with pheasant feathers, and I’m supposed to vacuum my bird dog’s hair up off the rug every few days, but that’s a pretty good deal, considering I also get the best wife in the world out of it.
But today’s her day. We both took the day off work, and I’m going to do whatever I can to dote on her. It’s all I can do at the moment. I’ll do all the honey-dos she asks for without complaining, and make sure there aren’t any chores she has to do. And when the boys come home, we’ll try not to track mud across the floor.
Happy birthday, Amy!
