Here's the best we could come up with. I blame the Pinot Grigio and the amazing company equally.
Chris was playing in a golf tournament-- WHAT, playing golf you say? NO! Unpredictable that one is, I know. That meant I had to play the, "if we do nothing, it's fine" card. Which I sincerely meant because it seems sort of silly to me to be sure to sit down to dinner together for a special occasion. Call me old fashioned, but damnit, we make a point of sitting down together no matter what.
Even if it is in the living room while we watch Housewives of Whatever City at 8pm while wearing our sweaty gym and driving range ensembles. Whaddayawant from us, we're only normal people.
"But if we DO do anything" I told Chris, "you're in charge. Because I planned New Year's and Valentine's Day."
Ah. Therein lies the rub!
He surprised the living daylights out of me by barreling off of the links and into his magical Hot Boyfriend machine otherwise known as his bathroom. He swoops in there and comes out gleaming, smelling like something so much more fantastic than that generic Axe crap so many dingdongs wear, and is always sure to come out sporting his Puma hat backwards. Sometimes he says it's because I prefer it that way, but really we know that it's because he's... psst... in his thirties and clinging to his youth.
We hopped in the car and he fended off my constant, "OH, I KNOW, we're going to Insert Any Restaraunt Within a Mile Radius" idiocy. Much to his chagrin I am sure, we pulled into my favorite Minneapolis neighborhood and strolled towards the cutest place around. A place full of microbrews, tiny tables, and those annoying people known as Hipsters. Young Professionals in very stylish clothing, if you will.
It's the kind of place too cool to accept reservations. The kind that has a 90 minute wait list that people glady put their names down on. While you wait, you're free to take glassware full of wine and microbrews outside to linger with a swarm of other sweaty, getting drunker by the waiting list minute-er diners. After being seated, Chris broke out the prerequisite Anniversary card. From my favorite obscure stationary shop. We had agreed to a very small gift budget since the only thing I care about right now is new appliances for the new house.
Being the high maintenance Go Big shopper that he is, he blew the budget out of the water with a gift from Crate and Barrel. And I know, how trite of a man to give a woman something for a kitchen store, right? But wrong. Because I treasure that store and even though I've never gone so far as to drag Chris into it, he knew.
That's the thing about Chris. He might complain 99 times out of 100 that the lunch I packed was wrong because X, or dinner was fifteen minutes too late for his liking or blah blah blah. You know, the standard complaints every woman hears from her family that make her feel inferior. But I will tell you something, folks, that one time? That one time looks at those other 99 and shuts 'em right the fuck up. When it counts, I can count on him. No matter how big or small, I know he won't disappoint me on the things that truly matter.