And the prize for Worst Fiancee Ever goes to...
The boy called me at work today to ask what was for tea. He does this every day. My answer is always 'dunno', so it really is a pointless exercise. Except today he also wanted to remind me that we'd forgotten our anniversary again this year. Generally we remember a few days too late, both feel a bit guilty for a day or so, and then forget about it until a year later and we realise we've forgotten again. This doesn't bother me too much, because a) it's kind of traditional now and b) it's not really a REAL anniversary. I mean, it's not like it was our first date or anything. Or the first time we... you know. YOU know.
It's just the day we bumped into each other in the pub.
But when he told me this today, I had a sort of niggly feeling in my head. Like there was something else I should be remembering. It was only about half an hour ago, that I realised what it was.
Our anniversary is the day after the night I accosted him at the jukebox.
Tuesday, it was. The 16th January.
The day I posted this.