I had expectations this past Sunday morning. Big surprise party with all of my friends, a black Trans-Am in the driveway with a big bow on it. Doing it with some random, hot, pink guy on a cloud without having to worry about getting pregnant or herpes....No, no really I had much much more modest expectations. A hand-made card. That would have been great. Well into my first cup of coffee, as the morning dead began to shamble into the kitchen, it occurred to me that the unthinkable was happening. Suddenly It was me and Molly standing at the bottom of those stairs alone and in utter disbelief:
Well, my Dad didn't. He came through with a very nice card that he took the bus across town to get. As he handed it to me and I began to cry, I'm sure I could hear Brian think, "Oh shit!"
But it's Ok, this incident is a small opportunity to rack up some really big guilt trips. I have learned this subtle art over the years. It has to be subtle as my husbands guilt trips are short lived and become extreme irritation if I lay it on too thick.
The kids on the other hand, are young and too little to put a crimp in my day if they are moody. This make them subject to the snide guilt trip comments. "Since you didn't even make me a card for my birthday, you should clean up after your messes as a present to me!" This usually is followed by the "I am under appreciated and I bet those children working in the Asian sweatshops for 20 hours a day still got their mothers a birthday card when they went for their bi-annual home visits" tirade that usually lasts for about 10 minutes or more.
I will milk it for as long as possible,but carefully, because I know that feeling sorry for myself is bad for my complexion.
**I also just wanted to mention, that everything is fine, when I start to find the humor in a situation, that is usually an indication that I am getting over it. There is no need to ask my better half about it if you know him because that could get me in trouble**
