So, last week was my 13-year wedding anniversary.
How did we spend our Saturday night?
At some romantic getaway?
A candlelight dinner?
Seeing as I'm not gay, we didn't go dancing.
We didn't do any of the other shit, either.
Because we had to go to a fucking birthday party.
My stepfather's 80th birthday party.
You read that right.
Apparently, my mom likes her junk uber-wrinkly.
Wife: "What do you get for an 80 year old?"
Me: "I don't know. A burial plot?"
I'm guessing, at 80, he already has one.
Regardless, I had ONE job to prepare for this party:
Wife: "Go get Frank a birthday card."
Wife: "Don't get one that says he's close to death or anything."
Sail...say goodbye to wind.
So I took my son to Target (pronounced "Tar-Jay" for those of you uncivilized folk), and returned with a card.
My wife looked at it when she got home.
Wife: "Um...could you find a gayer fucking card?"
I looked at it.
The card was flaming pink.
It was flaming pink on the top half, and hot lime green on the bottom.
Completely appropriate for an 80 year-old ex-military man.
But then, I thought, it didn't matter.
Me: "So what. Frank's color blind. He'll have no idea what color it even is unless someone tells him."
My wife then dutifully added:
Wife: "Rod, it has a friggin' JEWEL ON THE FRONT OF THE CARD."
I looked again.
Indeed, the giant decorative cake drawn on the front of the card...
...right in the middle of the florescent pink section...
...had it's top adorned with...
...a big, flashy rhinestone.
Me: "Oh. Look at that."
That card is totally gay.
This is why guy's shouldn't buy ANYTHING if their wife asks them to.
I totally should have gone with the Reaper card.