Creaking Into Another Year

It was The Husband’s birthday on Saturday, though I won’t embarrass him by revealing what age he turned. Ok, I will. He is now the grand old age of 29, which means that he is less than a year away from being officially Old. It was his last birthday in his twenties so you’d imagine he’d want a wild party or to go out with a bunch of mates, right? Wrong. It appears The Husband is Old before his time as all he wanted was a meal in with his wife. I suppose it’s sweet that he wanted to spend his birthday solely in my company, though I suspect the real reason, other than the fact that he hates a fuss being made of his birthday, is that he is so exhausted these days that his ideal way to spend his nights off is a quiet meal in and a movie (or, at the moment, a bit of footy) before retiring to bed at around 9pm. Which is exactly how his birthday was spent. We started with ginger mojitos and an antipasto starter, followed by lasagne and sticky toffee pudding (both specially requested by the birthday boy – he’s normally on an enforced healthy diet so he relished the opportunity to be allowed to eat some gut-busting food), paired with a lovely South Australian Shiraz. All of this was consumed to the delightful drone of the vuvuzela as he watched some dreary World Cup game. Immediately following his second large helping of sticky toffee pudding, he staggered into the bedroom and lay on the bed in a comatose state, moaning that he felt sick. Two minutes later he was fast asleep. And thus ended his final birthday of his twenties. He still managed to wake up the next morning with a hangover though – he really must be getting Old.