the story of the worst (funniest) anniversary ever

I’m writing this in retrospect because it’s funnier now than it was then. This is the story of the worst anniversary ever. Ever. This year was our five-year anniversary and I wanted to make it special. We’ve never celebrated with presents or anything too thought out, but I felt like this was special to have been married five whole years. I planned for a couple of weeks in advance to make the day unforgettable and I had a vision in my head of how awesome the day would be. I’m telling this story not to make anyone (Johnny) feel bad, but really, because how could I forget such an awful day? I’m already looking back on it and laughing. But it wasn’t funny at the time. At all.

A couple of days before the big day I gave Johnny the heads up that I had bought him some presents and was planning something fun for our anniversary. I really wanted it all to be a surprise but I thought it would be unfair if he didn’t know what I was doing and was caught unaware, didn’t do anything, and felt bad. So the big day comes and the first thing I do in the morning is pull out a present: the most handsome shirt and tie that took me days of shopping to find the perfect combo. They were pretty sweet. I also wrote him a long love letter, and inside the card were two tickets to a Bees baseball game for that night. There were even going to be fireworks. I then sit and kind of wait for my present to an awkward silence. He hadn’t gotten me anything. Oh, well, I brush it off.

We decide to head to SLC to the farmer’s market and then over to Capitol Theatre where I was hoping (more like praying) to score some standby Wicked tickets to the afternoon performance. I had already tried four other times and failed, so I knew the odds were in my favor and today would be the day! Wrong. The fifth time is not the charm. Oh, well again.

At this point I’m kind of waiting for Johnny to surprise me with something—anything! He says he had wanted to go on a picnic to the meadow where we went on our first date, but the baseball game conflicted. Okay, that was cute. But is it horrible of me to have felt a slight pang of disappointment? He hadn’t actually done anything at all; he had thought up a quick plan the day before of something we could do. I felt like he might have tried a little harder? I don’t know, I think I’m being too critical.

Now it’s evening and we haven’t done anything all day, but we’re about to head to the Bees game for hotdogs, baseball pants, and fireworks. I mention to Johnny there’s actually one more lottery for Wicked tickets and it’s right by the baseball stadium so we decide to try for a sixth time before the game. Now, I need to emphasize how badly I wanted to see this musical. I have known all the music for years, read the book before it was even and show, and am the only person in my family who hasn’t seen it yet (because tickets are $250!!!). This is my last chance and I have to win; it would make up for everything else that hasn’t happened today!

I didn’t win.

Oh, well (again). We still have tickets to the game and the night is young. Johnny drops me off so he can park the car and I go to the ticket counter to get our seats where the employee tells me they’re sold out. “That’s okay,” I say, “We have tickets, we just need our seat numbers.” What I was not told when I bought my tickets at work (for $20!) was that they only worked if there were seats left. And there are not. So my $20 bought absolutely nothing. I walk back to the car, sit down, and cry the hardest, saddest cry I’ve had in a long time. This was just the icing on top of the worst anniversary ever. No presents, no Wicked, no surprises, and now no baseball game. I cry the whole way home and Johnny says nothing. I think he was too scared.

But, oh, the night is not over. We attempt one very last time to salvage the day and grab takeout and head over to the park to have a picnic. But it turns out I’m allergic to something we ate so we have to go home, I pop a Benadryl, and am knocked out by 9 o’clock. And that’s how our five-year anniversary ended.

See?! It’s so bad it’s funny. Totally not funny then, or even a week afterwards, but kind of funny now. Johnny, if you’re reading this, you better start planning our six-year anniversary right now, and it better rock (I love you).