“Amber, dammit, I’m going to take that away from you,” my husband Tom grumbled.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
See, I got an iPod Touch for my birthday and the first application (or app, as the cool kids call it) I downloaded was a farting one. You can time the thing to make a farting noise and when it does you can be all, “Did you just cut the cheese?”
I’ve done this joke in our house. A lot. Tom found it funny at first. But after the third time he was no longer amused.
“How old are you again?” Tom asked pointedly.
“Er....twenty eight....” I admitted. And then the iPod Touch farted again and I collaped into more giggles.
My birthday, which was on Saturday, didn’t start off that good though.
No, when I had stumbled down the stairs I expected Tom to take me in my arms and wish me a Happy Birthday. But no. I found him stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. And for my added enjoyment, as I glared down at him, he scratched his balls, let out a loud snore, and smacked his lips repeatedly.
Why wasn’t he up wishing me a happy birthday? On his birthday I always wish him a happy birthday first thing.
I was tempted to throw water on his inconsiderate sleeping face. But that wouldn’t be nice. And it could potentially put him in a foul mood. So instead I started stomping around the house. I slammed cupboards and banged on drawers. I peeked over my shoulder expecting to see Tom waking up. But no. He didn’t even budge.
Maybe he IS telling the truth when he says he doesn’t hear the kids when they wake up in the dead of night.
(Probably not, though.)
In the end I sent Natalie to wake him up. I knew he wouldn’t get upset with her. And he didn’t. I heard him go, “Woah!” and then his eyes fluttered open.
“Boo,” Natalie said, grinning down at him.
I strolled into the living room waiting for my birthday wish.
Tom just scratched his leg and looked confused.
I waited some more.
Tom sneezed and didn’t bother to cover his nose.
Gross. Remind me to sanitize that area.
Tom got up and seriously looked like he was going to leave without wishing me a happy birthday.
“Ahem,” I said sweetly. I would not get mad on my birthday.
“You have an eye booger,” Tom offered.
AN EYE BOOGER? IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY AND ALL HE COULD TELL ME WAS THAT I HAD AN EYE BOOGER?!
“Oh, and happy birthday,” Tom added almost as an afterthought.
Well. I’ll take it.
Plus Tom made me lasagna.
And there was cake.
So in the end I had an enjoyable birthday.
Filled with lots of cake.
(Seriously, I had one piece after dinner and one piece before bed. Yum.)