Today is the official kickoff of Kellie’s birthday week. It seems that one day of celebrating isn’t sufficient for the queen. Is this normal? Do all wives get a birthday week, or have I been brainwashed?
Festivities begin tonight at Lips, San Diego’s ultimate drag dining experience. I don’t care whose birthday it is, I’m not dressing in drag. Initially, the party looked as if it was going to be an all girl affair, but then Kellie requested that I chauffeur her cackling clutch of inebriated cohorts. At first, I declined, but when she requested that I do it as a birthday present, I couldn’t refuse. Luckily for me, a few other husbands were persuaded to attend.
The problem with Kellie’s birthday is that I can’t get away with just buying her a card and a gift and being done with it. Kellie doesn’t want store bought trinkets; she wants presents that take time and effort. That’s why I’ve been charged with designated driver duty, our oldest daughter as been assigned to upload Kellie’s CD collection to iTunes, and our youngest daughter has been tasked with washing Kellie’s Lexus. Also, we all have to make her homemade cards and write something thoughtful. Then, for the remainder of the week, the family will have to endure a barrage of Kellie requests. If we protest or hesitate, we'll be subjected to a whining refrain of, "But it's my birthday week." I have a thought for Kellie; maybe she should just . . . On second thought, maybe I should keep that first thought to myself. My birthday is in three weeks and she might be setting a useful precedent.