Anniversary post mortem

Didn’t get a self esteem enhancing tattoo. Didn’t get to admire the Tattoo Con artists like a live art museum. No surprise tickets to a book convention.

The entirety of our anniversary celebration was me reading a book while the husband juggled with scary clowns. A guy dressed like a 13-y-o going trick or treating in ripped clothes covered with safety pins, peeked at my book cover and said, “Ew.” A four star costumed spooky priest whispered in my ear that he’s been under my bed. When I told him he’s on the wrong side of it, he ran away. Literally.

The only attempt at conversation was the man who said my eyebrows were drawn perfectly. I truly believe this was spoken with good intentions. What my brain heard was that my eyebrows look like they were done in crayon.

Celebrating anniversaries is not in our skill set. We’ve been together twenty years and haven’t killed each other. From now on we’ll fist bump when passing each other on the staircase and leave it at that. No expectations means no disappointment.

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