Sing it 

My husband came home last night and found me on the couch in the middle of a movie. He pulled a face, because I had just unwittingly buggered up his idea for a weeding anniversary present for me.

We got married on the 13th of the month. It was a quiet affair as we had been living together for ten years or so already, so there was not point in getting a huge crowd together to exchange a meal for toasters  – we already had one – it seemed hypocritical. So we had a quiet ceremony with a few friends, drinks in the park and a meal to follow. At the time, I joked that the reason we were getting married on the 13th was because it would be unlucky for him if he forgot our anniversary, but year after year, it is me who has been the culprit.

In my defence, it is a busy time of year for me. My birthday and my mum’s and dad’s are exactly three weeks apart over March and April and one of my brother’s birthdays is in there too. I generally remember it is coming and then get distracted by other things. A couple of times I have come home to find presents that my husband has left for me and it is only then that I have realised that I have done it again.

This year, I was pretty confident I was on top of it until my birthday last week, when I was showing my husband details of a live show I was thinking of going to. I did not think he would like it and wanted to show him to check that he wouldn’t resent me buying a ticket on my own.

‘Nothing else on that day?’ he asked.

‘Nope,’ I said, ‘nothing at all.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

My spidey senses should have pricked at this, but I was half way down a bottle of wine.

‘No, it is a Thursday so it will be fine,’ I said.


I swear, it is like living with Hercule Poirot sometimes – always the grand reveal. And I had been caught once again.

He has forgiven me, clearly because last night when he came home to find me watching Sing, he confessed that he had been planning to buy it as a gift.

‘You still can,’ I said, ‘I rented it, but it is great and I will want to see it again.’

‘I knew you would. The guys at work thought I was mad, but I told them it would be right up your street.’

‘It is,’ I admitted, ‘I am loving it – but then you would know that after all these years of marriage,’ I added.

‘Indeed,’ he said.

‘How many years?’ I asked.

‘Many years,’ he stalled.

‘What year were we married? I asked.

‘You are missing your movie,’ he said.

And there we have it.  I forget the date, but remember the year and he remembers the date but has no idea how many times he has remembered it and I guess that is why we have managed to make it through this far – and perhaps his ability to know what movies I am going to love, even when it seems mad to the rest of the world.

Sing was great fun, great music, slapstick humour and a happy ending – just what I need at the moment.

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