Here’s how it usually goes down:
First, he whispers sweet things in my ear like: “You only received one card and it’s the 17th” and “Why aren’t more people inviting you out for drinks?” because those things, he knows, get my juices flowing. Then he usually works his way, with his fingers, up to my temples because my mind is where he knows I’m the weakest. “You can forget about the Ipad,” “You can forget about the Yanni tickets,” “You can forget about an email from any of your exes, baby… you’re just… not… that… important.”
At this point, Inner-Saboteur has me exactly where he wants me. He knows that going for my ego is a sure fire way to f*ck me hard, and hell, who doesn’t love a birthday f*ck, am I right? So he gets inside me and that’s really when the fun starts.
“You won’t hear from your father. Again.”
“No one will show up at your office with flowers.”
“You know you’re bound to get in a fight with someone you love.”
“The lingerie that you won’t get wouldn’t fit anyway.”
“Have you seen your ass in a bikini? Please. The trip to South Beach should be the last thing you would want right now.”
And as he can feel that I’m losing control, he goes, full force, into the finale…
“You’ll never be happy, and you’ll never be satisfied, because that’s just who you are, Barbara. It’s never enough, no matter what people do.”
And I collapse on my bed of self-loathing as I ponder all of the emotions that his words have stirred. Yep, it’s April 18th. And yep, I’ve done it once more. I’ve sabotaged myself into believing that I will be having a miserable birthday yet again, and the God damned day hasn’t even started. I’m AWESOME! Seriously!! No one on earth could screw up a happy moment better than I could, man. Momma always said: “If you’re going to do something, do it better than anyone else” So, yeah, add “screwing myself over” to the list behind crocheting winter scarves, winning at backgammon and making a jewish-style beef brisket. I rule at sucking, and I’m getting better at it every year. I. Am so. F*cked.
And don’t dare make a comment about the Yanni tickets. I’m seriously not in the mood.