This morning I was at the upstairs computer reading the news when Mr. Fixit came rushing into the room and planted a big kiss on me. He said, “Happy Anniversary!”
My first thought was, “Darn, I forgot it again.” (Almost every year I forget. Well, actually I don’t forget, I just never know the day’s date.)
He said, “You forgot again.”
“I’m sorry. I had no clue.”
Then it dawned on me. “Wait just a darned second. This is January 19; our anniversary is February 19. You messed up this time—not me!”
A few years ago I said to him, “Do you remember what happens in two weeks?”
He said, “You forget every year.”
“I never forget,” I protested. “I remember every year.”
“You do not!”
“Wait, I think we may be talking about different things. What are you talking about?”
He said, “Our anniversary. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I was talking about the first NASCAR race of the season.”
If he ever brings that up again, I have this year’s story to tell about his anniversary faux pas. (Teehee)
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