I fucked up

So I'm standing in the kitchen Thursday doing ... kitcheny stuff (washing dishes, cooking, nabbing snakes - whatever), and Evil Genius Husband and I are chatting. We're joking around and at some point he says something like: "I shouldn't have to put up with this on my birthday!"

And my blood ran cold.

I stared at him stupidly for a second while my primative processing unit clanked and whirred and finally everything lined up in my head. It was his birthday. Fuck me. Fuh-huck me.

Now, in my own defense, I hadn't forgotten. Really. Quit with the smug little expressions! I HADN'T! I just thought it was the next day.

I'd been planning for weeks for this birthday. I was going to go out Friday morning, get the cake, ice cream, balloons, stripper, etc so EGH would be able to partake over dinner (when The Brood was napping). And since my world revolves around trips to the grocery store and doctor's appointments I rarely know the day's date. I mean, what's the point? Either I'm going out that day or I'm not. (yes I live a small, sad life. What's yer point?) And, see, Thursday was the last day he had to teach summer school and so I couldn't be gone in the morning until Friday ...

fucknuggets.

Anyway, happy belated 31st birthday to the finest Evil genius I know. I lurve you!