I would have liked to have been a fountain of bubbly energy and enthusiasm for The Wife’s birthday tonight. But I had little energy left over after an all-over-the-place day at the office. I hope that a bunch of gifts over the weekend, even if not presented with spectacular elan, was enough to keep her happy and let her know that I love her and that I enjoy indulging her.
See, I really enjoy making her a special dinner on her special days. I’d like to think that’s when I can pull out the stops, use all premium ingredients, kick it up a notch, and really put in the effort to turn out some spectacular food. Usually what she wants is crepes with lemon filling, which is relatively easy — I just have to make sure to turn the crepes before they brown. But this year she said no, she didn’t want that.
I kind of had to draw the line at her request to have Costco hot dogs for dinner, though. And I feel bad because my initial reaction to that should have been to say “You got it! If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do!” But it had already been a long, mostly unpleasant day by the time she called me and said that’s what she wanted for her birthday meal.
Seriously, she wanted to get hot dogs from Costco. Sorry you had to deal with the trays of canteloupe, blackberries, two kinds of pears, apples, soprasetta; another tray of mozzarella, smoked gouda, Parmaseano reggiano, and roasted garlic-inflused cheddar; and a green salad; followed by ice cream cake brought over by your best friend. Maybe next year we can go to Costco instead, honey.