Occasionally, I am sent awe-struck e-mails from people who have been rendered speechless by my abilities as a writer. They tentatively approach me to ask delicate questions, as if I am some magical font of information which will be of service to them in life. They assume that I am there with Buddha and Stephen King and Neil Gaiman and so on, and I accept it graciously.
This post is to remind all of you that I am human.
Today is my wife’s birthday. I remembered. I’m very proud of this. “dates” as technically made up of “Numbers,” which are things that do not stay in my head very long at all.
But I remembered. So I went online to St. Cloud Flower Shop.com and I placed an order for a beautiful birthday bouquet of flowers, to be sent to my wife at work. I was very pleased. I kept my cell phone handy so I could coyly pretend I didn’t know what the flowers were there for, and then say “Happy Birthday, I love you,” and be the Good Husband.
I got a call.
So I answer the phone, and it’s my wife, laughing, and my heart lifts. It worked!
“Did you try to order flowers?” She asks me.
“Yes. No. I have the right to deny it,” I said. “What do you mean try?”
“You ordered them in St. Cloud, Florida. And the phone number you gave her was the phone number we canceled two months ago, remember? So she called me.”
“I…um…oh. Damn it.”
So there you have it. I am human after all.
I’m going to go hide in the closet, or something.