Lying in bed last night I was going over the day’s activities in my head when I realised the date. 2 February. Crap! The Turk and I were married 11 years ago today. The fact that we are still married in itself is a miracle as I have wanted to divorce him or murder him or perhaps break one of his appendages at least once a week since 2 February 2003. But the more important issue at hand is that both The Turk and I have forgotten our wedding anniversary yet again!
It really should not be that hard to remember an anniversary should it? After all it happens yearly, that’s the point. But without fail either I would forget (and am usually reminded by the Accountant at my office who is excellent with dates) or he would forget (maybe it is a cultural thing because anniversaries and birthdays do not seem to be particularly important to anyone in his family) but the fact of the matter is this time we both forgot.
I nudged The Turk a few times until he woke up, “It’s our wedding anniversary today.”
“2 February. It’s our wedding anniversary.”
He rolled over and looked at the time on his clock, “It’s after midnight. Not 2 February anymore.”
And promptly fell back asleep.
A normal wife would probably have exploded or pulled out a voodoo doll with their husband’s DNA attached at this point but I am not a normal wife. He’s right. It’s not important. I have never been one to remember anyway after all I always relied on Bez from the office to remind me (Bez why didn’t you remind me?!).
This morning I woke up and, remembering that I had forgotten my wedding anniversary (huh?), I set forth to make brunch for The Turk and Daughter. The Turk had already left to go and help his brother deliver maydanoz (parsley) so I had plenty of time to prepare. Daughter was happy – pancakes are always welcome for a breakfast treat.
10:00 am and my feast is ready to be consumed when there was a knock on the door.
“Kim o?” Who is it?
Unknown Turkish voice came from the other side of the door giving me a nonsensical Turkish reply. Why do I bother asking?
I opened the door to discover a huge man standing in the doorway. This man was seriously as large as the door itself wearing all black including a big, black, bushy beard. He was no doubt a murderer or a terrorist or, well, I just did not have a clue but he scared the shit out of me! I stepped backwards at the sight of him but then focused on what he was holding in his arms. 2 dozen perfect blue roses. Blue roses! I do not think I have ever seen a blue rose before! The giant pushed the roses to me grunting some more nonsensical Turkish words at me and then disappeared down the stairs. Daughter began squealing and jumping around and I was stood at the front door dumbfounded.
By the time The Turk arrived home fifteen minutes later I had managed to regain my composure and locate/borrow enough vases to arrange my beautiful blue roses around our home.
“Darling. Did you get my present? Seni cok seviyorum. And do you want to know the best part?”
“They only cost 20 lira!”
Daughter threw the book that she was reading at The Turk, “Daddy! Shhh! How unromantic! Jeeze!”
That’s my husband – always on the lookout for a bargain. Happy (belated) Anniversary anyway.