It feels a bit strange making a post about my birthday, but it’s not just mine.  It’s also Mark’s birthday.  It also happens to be our wedding anniversary.  And the anniversary of the day we met.

No one has any excuses in our household if they forget the date.

The reason I’m writing the post instead of glossing right over the date is because this year is an aberration.

Every year since Mark and I met, sixteen years ago, on the Saturday closest to our birthdays & wedding anniversary, we have thrown a humungous birthday/anniversary party (called the birth-a-versary party), invited everyone we know, and partied until everyone decided to go home, which in some years, they didn’t. We ended up making breakfast for hungry hoards the next morning and handing out hangover cures.

For the first time in sixteen years, on this, our 15th wedding anniversary, we’re not doing the party.  I’m not sure if I’m upset about that, or just feeling superstitious, like we’re inviting bad luck by not keeping up the tradition.

I’m writing this post on the long weekend just before the 22nd, which is the weekend we would have had the party.  Mark is on the road on a three-day wrestling road trip, which put the kibosh on the party.  Oh, we probably could have squeezed it into the Sunday night, as it’s a long weekend, but that would have made it a nightmare weekend, and these days, with both of us working day jobs, and our “real” careers demanding just as much time outside office hours, we’re feeling a bit stretched.  The planning for the party just didn’t happen.

So Mark and I are going out for dinner, instead.  Which is just…weird.  It will be lovely to have the night out.  I haven’t eaten out at a restaurant for quite a while.  But I still feel like I’ve invited a hex.

I had no idea I was so tradition-bound…!

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