Celebrating a 30th birthday on a budgetSeptember 22, 2006 at 11:01 am | Posted in family, nonsense | 11 Comments
In case you haven’t noticed before, I’m a bit of a romantic cunt. I like to go all out for my ho and treat her like a bitch ought to be treated, knowwhatahmsayin?
For real, dawg. Woof.
So, it’s Linzi’s 30th birthday on Monday. Not having much money (£200 to be exact) means I’ve had to put alot of thought into maximising the giftage while keeping a rein on the finances. Sweating the assets, we call it here in the crazy, crazy world of IT. To tell you the truth, the way I saved for this event was by building up all my mileage from travelling between sites over the course of 2006. At the start of September, I put in a claim for the whole lot, and hence I now have enough yoyos to pay for a decent shebang.
Surprise #1 is that I’ve taken the day off, cos she thinks I’m working. Imagine how happy you’d be to wake up next to a naked Kav, knowing full well I should not be there. That’s how excited she’s going to be. Anyway, I’d better stop talking about myself naked, in case I make you even hornier. Come on now, quit licking the monitor.
Ya sick fucker.
Yeah, lahke ah says, the plan is to wake her with breakfast, bringing the kids through to give her the first round of gifts. Said gifts comprise:
- a necklace she asked me for ages ago. I hate buying gifts where the person knows what to expect, so I’ve already told her that the waiting list for the necklaces is two months, and it wouldn’t be available in time for her birthday, so I’d get it for her for Christmas instead. So now, even though she knew about it, it’s still going to be a surprise when she gets it. I’m a crafty bastard.
- a voucher from Erin to get a manicure/French polish at this place. Little does she know the voucher also includes a full-body deep-tissue massage. She’ll find that out in the afternoon, once she gets there and they tell her to get her kit off.
- a set of Baby Sign Language cards from Jack. What in the name of all that is good and holy are they, you ask? They’re just what they say they are: it’s a way to use sign language to communicate with your kid before he can talk. For example, fingers up to the mouth means “I’m hungry”, flapping the hand forward and back over the crotch means “I’m horny”, and so forth.
After this, Linzi’s parents are coming over and we’re all taking the kids swimming. Well, Linzi, Erin and I are going swimming, while her parents look after Jack. I even paid for L to get her bikini line done this week, so she won’t be embarrassed when she goes swimming, as women tend to get. I prepared the fuck out of this birthday, let me tell you.
What makes it good is, I told her when she was going for the wax this week that that was her birthday present. “If someone asks you what you got for your birthday, tell them you got your flaps waxed,” I said.
“You’re going to have to at least get me a cake,” she replied, “I can’t tell everyone that my 30th birthday present was getting my flaps waxed.”
“Stop, don’t be talking like that. Girls sound so crude when they speak like that. Don’t say flaps, say minge, or gowl. Something classier than ‘flaps’, anyway.” I responded.
I keep digressing, but it’s Friday afternoon, and it beats working.
After swimming, L’s parents are going to look after the kids while I take her for lunch to a pub that she loves called The Station Inn. Once we’ve finished stuffing our faces, I’ll take her across to that spa place for her ‘manicure’, where she will discover that I have tricked her once again, and she’s not only getting a manicure, but a massage too.
At this point, she’ll think “This day has been perfect, how could it get any better?”
But wait, there’s more.
There is a bakery that sells obscenely expensive delicious cheesecake which she loves, and continually rants about how it’s so far away that she never gets to have any of it. I figured, rather than go for the traditional, forgettable sponge and cream cake, why not make it one of these cheesecakes? I am picking it up tomorrow (they make them to order, then quick-freeze them), and I’ll drop it at her parent’s place.
So, while she has her massage/manicure, I am going to swing by her parent’s house to collect the cheesecake, then leg it home and do all the balloons and banners and all that tacky shit, put 30 candles into her cheesecake, stick a bottle of wine in the fridge, and then come back to collect her from the spa. While I’m picking her up, her brother and his family will arrive over at ours, so that when we get in, we’ll all be there ready to do the happy birthday thing.
Once the cake’s consumed, I’ll tell her family to fuck off, and give the kids their usual baths. Once they’re safely in bed, I will magically provide a bottle of her favourite wine, Sancerre, to help her relax while she sits and watches shite tv. Sancerre is a treat for her because we couldn’t normally afford it, so I’m hoping she’ll be lost in the deliciousness while I escape upstairs and prepare the bedroom.
This is one area where I got fucking well ripped off. A few years ago, when we still lived in Ireland, I bought L a dozen red roses, but rather than just give her them (boring), I cut the heads off them and scattered petals all over our apartment. I told you, I’m a romantic cunt. Anyway, this time around, I don’t have quite as much free time, so I figured, I’ll just order some petals and save myself the stress.
I wish I had just done it the old-fashioned way. I spent £20 for what amounts to about a fistful of fucking rose petals. I haven’t seen such a display of utter cuntery for quite a while. Trust me, if you ever want to do this, just buy a bunch of flowers and rip them up yourself. That way, at least you’ll get enough to cover up your lad while you lie naked on the bed.
Anyway, bedroom: while she watches tv, run a hot bath for her (we have a big corner bath in our ensuite), light 30 candles (because she’s 30 – do you get my secret code?), scatter rose petals around bedroom and in bath, and crash bang wallop kazzam, Robert’s your father’s brother.
Giving her a bath with an expensive bottle of wine ensures she’ll be in there for a while, allowing me to give the old PS2 the nurturing and love she so desperately needs. I’ve really been neglecting her recently. It’s been seven weeks since I even turned her on. *insert turn-on joke here.*
There you have it folks, a big birthday on a small budget. I’m also taking her out for dinner with friends next Friday, but that’s a surprise too. Indian. Mmmm. I’m salivating already. Shhh now. Say nothing.
Have a good weekend, pups.