REAL MADRID CAN BITE ME

I didn't have high hopes for this year's anniversary.  It's kind of hard to when there's no prayer of a babysitter and your anniversary happens to fall between two of the biggest holidays of the year.  Nope, no 'high hopes' at all which is a good thing since my better other half seems to have completely blown the damned thing off. 

Oh wait, do I sound bitter?
Do I have a tone?
Edgy perhaps?
Snarky even?

Try fucking pissed.  Yeah, try that one.

No, it wasn't our Silver or Golden Anniversary.  What's the traditional gift for ten years of putting up with loving each other?  Really?  A sink full of dirty dishes, a filthy bathroom and a sack full of rotting trash to take out?  Wow.  I had no idea.  And to think of the money I could've saved at the new Outdoor Sportsman shop that just went up in the pueblo...

I could've dropped a hint, a gentle reminder.  Yeah, I could'a done that.  Oh no, wait a minute.  I DID.  Like three times this week.  So when night falls and there's not even a congratulatory sticky note on the fridge to say Babe, we made it!  Thanks...

...for the three kids you birthed
...for sticking out a rough couple of years financially
...for being there to say goodbye to loved ones
...for the last TEN YEARS worth of foul smelling laundry that has been cleaned, folded and put away

You can bet your sweet ass that I'm pissed.  And for the record, it makes no difference in the world to me whether or not Madrid won or not.  Red card for you, Mr. Picklepits. 

RED CARD FOR YOU!