An Idle Threat, I’m Sure

It’s now twenty-nine days until my birthday. You might already know that I consider my birthday my very own national holiday, and if you didn’t know that – well, now you do. Although I’m not giddy about the new number, I still have the same excitement about the day that I had as a little girl. I have it even despite the fact that this year’s Christine’s National Holiday falls on a Tuesday, and I generally hate Tuesdays.

There’s a special anxiety about this day for me though. See, for Christmas, I spoiled the boy with gifts. They were so much fun to buy, I loved getting special wrapping paper and ribbon solely because I knew he’d love it, and I particularly enjoyed watching him open his presents. One, that’s an extremely rare treat considering the distance. Two, he was just so overwhelmed with his gifts. He kept asking, “How did you know?” Fortunately, I always keep a pen and paper on the coffee table and next to my bed, so if something needs to be written quickly, I can jot it down.

What did I receive from him, you ask? Nothing. He didn’t get me anything for Christmas. This hurt – a lot – but I tried to rationalize it away by reminding myself that one never gives a gift in order to get a gift. That that sort of thinking undermines the point of exchanging gifts at all, because the act then becomes a requirement and not something from the heart. It stewed in me, but bit by bit, I pretended to get over it.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, and I made sure to remind him about it, as subtly as I could. (Sure, some of you think I’m as subtle as a sack of hammers, but I can be discrete when necessary.) I mentioned in passing about buying him a card. I could get away with it because that part was mixed in with the story of buying my sister her birthday card (her birthday is the 13th) and how once again, I was unable to resist the lure of a new Yankee Candle. I might have mentioned how honeysuckle is my favorite scent EVER as well. Perhaps.

So Valentine’s Day rolls around, and while the boy received not one but two! cards, I did not get any mail. I knew I wasn’t getting a present, because we don’t do that, but I did ask him to make up a story for me to tell me that night so I could sleep. Nope, before you ask. No story either.

And in my infinite wisdom, I picked Valentine’s night to lay all this out to the boy. I’d been trying to tell him for weeks that the Christmas stiff hurt, but how can you not feel like an absolute asshole when whining about not getting a Christmas present? Is there such a conversation that can be had without sounding like some kind of controlling female lunatic?

Apparently not, but I did it anyway. I told him that it hurt. I told him that it also hurt that he didn’t take the time to send me a card. That it makes me wonder about the relative emotional investments in our relationship. He tried to play it off. He tried to use the “bad boyfriend” card. I didn’t buy it. I simply told him that he’s selfish.

So yesterday he told me that I’d be getting my birthday present early. He also told me that he did get me Christmas presents but couldn’t get them into his luggage (r-i-g-h-t) and that they’ll be coming along in the box. And I hope. I try not to, but I do.

He mentioned the other day something he wanted for his birthday. (I don’t remember what; quite honestly, I wasn’t listening.) I told him that I wasn’t getting him a birthday present. And at that moment, I meant it. I kinda still do.

I don’t want this to become a tit-for-tat situation. But it still hurts. And I don’t know when I’ll get over it. Maybe if I got a real apology, which will never happen. So I’ve got to just LET IT GO. Not the easiest thing for me, but in the long run, is it really that important?

YES.