Warning: Here be ranting

I must apologise for yesterday’s bad tempered Tweeting about my birthday. I tend to approach my birthday in the spirit of Blackadder’s Queenie – selfishly and with threats of decapitation if presents aren’t up to scratch. And to be fair, I did receive some jolly nice presents – a new Mackinac Moon craft tote, some Decleor goodies, Hobbycraft vouchers, a lovely scarf, some home made buns – I am genuinely grateful for these. But they were from people who could have just turned up with a card and a few good wishes and I’d have been happy (no, honest, I WOULD!!).

No, the reason for my ire was the unreconstituted shitness of the offerings from my husband.

To be frank, after more than 20 years together I have come to expect a less than satisfactory response from him on the birthday front. But I am not a high maintenance woman and he spends zero money on me during the rest of the year, so I do kind of think I’m allowed to be indulged and treated like a bit of a princess on my birthday. You know, what with HAVING GIVEN HIM THE PRICELESS GIFT OF CHILDREN AND ALL!!!™

Anyway, experience has taught me that he simply doesn’t share this vision. To the extent that this year I decided to hold off opening cards and presents until I got home from work in the evening. I told him and the kids that it was because I needed to be in work early (which was true), but really it was because I wanted the inevitable disappointment and ensuing cold rage to be confined to the evening, rather than infecting my whole day.

It’s like this: two weeks ago my husband enquired whether I would like a DS lite for my birthday. Our eight year old has one and he knows I like playing with it. He also knows our son would like to have someone to hook up to play games with. Oh, and there is the fact that for the last 12 months I have been saying “I want a DS lite” roughly every 20 minutes.

So anyway, he asked, and I did the gracious thing: “Oh I’d lurve one, but it’s terribly expensive and can we really afford it and maybe we should be putting the money towards a new tv instead or buying an external hard drive for the computer etc etc”.

As any fule kno, this clearly means “Yes!! Yes buy me one! Or, if you’re feeling really flash, get me a new TV. Or better still, get all three!!”

The more I thought about it, the more I just knew that I was heading for a fall, so I did some pretty hefty mental preparation work along the “It’s the thought that counts” lines. But there must still have been some little spark of hope inside me that just couldn’t be doused, because I found it very hard to accept what I eventually received yesterday in a gracious manner.

In two weeks we went from DS lite to:

1 pair Tesco (TESCO!) pyjamas – they are the wrong size, horrid looking and I can sense an oncoming yeast infection just by looking at them. (Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of clothing from Tesco – practically my whole wardrobe comes from there these days. WHICH IS PRECISELY WHY I HOPE NOT TO RECEIVE MORE OF THE BLOODY TAT FROM MY HUSBAND ON MY BIRTHDAY!! There’s even an M&S right next door to the Tesco he bought them from, he could easily have nipped next door and bought something a bit fancier.)

An audio book. What, did I just turn 65 or something?? (Interestingly, it was his mum’s 65th birthday at the weekend. He bought her an audio book. Amongst many other things.)

A DVD – an 80s tv drama called “One Summer”, starring David Morrissey. This would actually have been a good gift, except he let slip a few weeks ago that he’d bought it for me at Christmas and then forgotten he’d got it. Rather than doing the reasonable thing and whipping it out one January evening when we were both at a loose end, he prudently banked it for a later date.

A memory stick. This is, so I am told “…EXACTLY the same as having an external hard drive. EX-ACTLY! In fact, better!!”

There was a thin line where my mouth used to be when opened that lot, I don’t mind telling you. Next year I am having cash.

Oh, one more thing, my birthday cake. I said this year that I would really like a birthday cake (see, I even have to ask for my own cake!). We have been together 20 years. I pretty much dislike fruit cake, while he loves it. I leave him to finish off all the Christmas cake for that reason. When we order in a café I always go for the chocolaty, spongy options - I am a sponge girl through and through, preferably with lashings of jam and butter cream in the middle.

OK, you know what’s coming, I really don’t need to spell it out, do I? Except to say that when he was shovelling it down he kept trilling on about how very nice fruit cake is, so much nicer than sponge and not at all sickly. Whilst I studied him through narrowing eyes.