Happy Anniversary to me

Today is the Vol-in-Law's and my 9th wedding anniversary. Did he take me out to a chi-chi reservation-only restaurant? Did he shower me with jewels, fripperies and gew-gaws? Did he conduct a few minutes of Internet research to discover that the traditonal gift for a 9th anniversary is a copper tortilla press? Did he bring me flowers and say "I'd do it all over again?"

Umm, no.

No. The Vol-in-Law is at his parents' house many miles away and in the separate country of Scotch-land, helping them with their problems. I won't go into the details (though I've been itching to), but suffice it to say- it is all muy sordid-o. (ViL doesn't speak Spanglish, so maybe I'll just slip it in using our secret American code)

When I phoned him - after getting the latest blow-by-blow on the sordidad - I said "Hey, you know it's our anniversary today." He said "Is it? Well, happy anniversary."

Am I mad as heck? Will I pack his belongings into a Manchester luggage set (aka black plastic garbage bag) and chuck them out into the road? Nah. I can't be bothered. I'm not even a little upset. If VolMom hadn't mentioned it, I might have forgotten myself. Several years, I've only remembered after the fact and said "Hey, you know it was our anniverary last week?"

We're just not anniversary type people. I could say something cheesy like:

We don't need a special day. Every day is a celebration of the commitment we made.

But that wouldn't be true. Not. Every. Day. But most days, anyway.

Happy Anniversary, ViL.