We have this running joke in my little family. That John got off too easy. My birthday is New Year's Day. And our anniversary is Christmas Eve. He will never, ever be able to forget one or the other, thus saving him from the Doghouse forever. John, you're welcome.
So a coworker was making me rather sad because she is a single mother and for one reason or another, she has just had rotten luck with scheduled holidays this year and has missed out on that time with her kid. So after looking at the schedule and confirming our tentative holiday plans with John, I told her I would help cover her Christmas Eve assaignment. John's mom has 20 days off in a row in December, and so long as I am off for Christmas Day so I can spend time with my family, 4 or 8 hours of work on the eve are not going to wreck anything.
Then two of my coworkers piped up: "Andrea, isn't that your anniversary?????"
Yes it is. I forgot.
My 10-year anniversary, to be exact. A milestone that is a pretty big deal, considering the crap we have endured together. I didn't even think about it because our anniversary always gets lost in wrapping presents and making sure Santa has cookies, in last-minute shopping and stuffing stockings at 2 AM after Evan has finally lost the sleep battle. Somewhere in there, we tell each other "Happy Anniversary". That's it. And that is our fault because we are the ones who got married on a date that would never be about us anymore once we became parents. And so I forgot.
Don't tell John.