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Saturday, May 27, 2017

Happy Birthday Scotto Poinker!

It’s Scotto’s birthday tomorrow. We bought his presents together, last weekend.

“Do you want me to wrap your presents?” I asked today, hoping he’d note the distinct lack of enthusiasm in my voice.

“No that’s okay,” he said.

“Do you care if I don’t get you a card? I hate those Hallmark shysters. Besides, cards are bad for the environment.”
“No,” he said quietly. “That’s okay.”

“I’ll send you a Facebook message,” I offered.

“Okay,” he sighed.

Scotto always wraps my presents in pink tissue paper, pink ribbon and an accompanying card with a lovely message inside. Even when I asked for a laminator for my birthday, the wrapping made it look as though he’d bought at Tiffany’s in Paris.

He’s very romantic and I’m not really.

But I love him for that. God, my ex-husband used to give me a Christmas card with “Thanks for all your help during the year” written on it.

Do you know that long before I met Scotto I used to read about him in a magazine?

His Dad was a big fish in the publishing world and wrote a funny article every week in a national magazine. It was all about his family and he used to affectionately make fun of his son, Scotto, who had the pseudonym, “Brick for Brains”.
I used to read the article every week, never knowing I would one day be married to Brick for Brains.

He’s a good sport my Scotto. Now he’s married to a blogger who makes him her straight man/foil in her ravings. 

Ironic huh?

So, happy birthday Scotto, my darling husband.

Thank you for getting me coffee in the morning on weekends, even though I get it for you five times a week so I shouldn’t have to say thanks because I actually do it more times than you.

Thank you for letting me have all my animals and especially thank you for not throttling the rooster which I know annoys you quite a lot with his crowing.

Thank you for being a softy and almost letting me buy that puppy at Cararra Markets even though we already have four ungrateful dogs.

Thank you for not judging me when I sit watching the telly with a hair curler in my fringe and no front tooth.

Thank you for always believing in me and sticking up for me even when my side of the story is a bit dodgy.

Thank you for indulging me in my conspiracy theories and agreeing that thumb print recognition on my iPhone is yet another devious form of government data collection.

Thank you for cleaning up dog vomit because you know I can’t stomach it and let me clean up the poo which you can’t stomach.

And above all, thank you for not making me fork out on a crappy birthday card.

Love you.