I always forget the date of my anniversary.
You might say, ‘But you’ve only been married for a year and a half, Larissa. How can you have forgotten already? Surely you’re exaggerating for comedic effect.’
Well, anonymous voice of questioning integrity, I do, in fact, always forget the date of my anniversary. Whenever someone asks about it (which, oddly, is more often than one would think), I inevitably get it wrong.
Take, for example, a conversation Red and I were having with our favourite recently engaged couple over dinner the other night:
Them: So how long have you been married now?
Red: About a year and a half. It’ll be two years in December.
Them: What day?
Me: December 18th. I’m always forgetting the date of our anniversary, but I’ve come up with a method for remembering it, and it’s the 18th.
Red: It’s actually the 19th.
Now, I don’t know if me never remembering the exact date of our wedding makes me an incredibly modern married woman who doesn’t put a lot of stock in the day itself, because, after all, it’s just a day on which nothing actually happens from that point on. I mean, birthdays are way better. I can get behind birthdays. I get to eat cake!
Guy Fawkes night? Fireworks!!
In contrast, anniversaries are kind of lame.
I don’t know what Red and I did last December 19th. Probably nothing.
Or, I don’t know if me never remembering the exact date of our wedding makes me a terribly unthoughtful person.
Maybe a bit of both.
And I’m fine with that.
For those of you wondering what my method of remembering the exact date of our anniversary is, I’ll tell you. It’s very simple. I always THINK that our anniversary is on the 18th of December, so I really KNOW that it’s on the 19th, because I know that I always think it’s on the wrong date. Except, well, it always ends up going a little like this: I always THINK that our anniversary is on the 18th of December, so I really KNOW that it’s on the 18th of December.
Kind of a shitty memory aid, you say. Yes, I know.
I suspect that I always think our anniversary is on the 18th because my very dear sister’s birthday is on the 18th (of September), so it’s a number that’s in the forefront of my memory.
Or it suggests a rather worryingly creepy incestuous thing going on in my mind.