Yesterday i turned twenty six, and it was as uneventful as most birthdays past the age of thirteen tend to be. No cake, no "happy birthday to you" sung to me at the crack of dawn which you might expect from a house filled with little people. You see my husband who was due back from his boys only weekend at midnight on Sunday, decided to call me at 10pm with the news that he had "accidentally" missed his flight home. Needless to say i was not buying any of it, i slammed the phone down and uttered obscenities to myself vowing to make him pay. It's bad enough he lied to me but to act with such total disregard for me on my BIRTHDAY - i wanted to boil his head!
So i awoke all alone, no cards and with no one to look after the kids i had no choice but to cancel the Indian head massage and pedicure my mum had booked for me at the local spa. The day was pretty much a non starter and after avoiding Mr Bold for the whole day, filling my time with a spot of retail therapy and lots of cheesecake, i finally returned home to be give him a piece of my mind.
The silent treatment had obviously worked, he couldn't apologise enough and had bought me an abundance of random belated birthday gifts to help ease his guilty conscience and so he bloody well should have. They were all lovely apart from the chavtastic silver "seksy" watch he had also bought on the plane, recommended to him by the air hostess, need i say more. Why is it that men are so incapable of buying decent presents? They think if it costs more than fifty quid they are on to a winner,their brain must malfunction at the slightest mention of the word "present". I suppose i should be grateful he at least made the effort, after all it's the thought that counts isn't it?