Z 8/13/02

Work Diary, 8/13/02

This weekend, I sneaked out of the house, drove to the Cherry Creek
Shopping Mall, and bought my partner's birthday present. He'll be 35 on
Friday, meaning he shares a birthday with Madonna. As I don't know
Madonna personally, I'm not sure if the two of them share any
characteristics, except that they're both good dancers and
Italian.

We're having a pre-party at the house before people head out,
inebriated and slurry, to go dancing. My plan is to serve cheap swill
over ice, with perhaps some of those fancy toothpicks or drink
umbrellas. I think we have some leftover pate as well, and I've already
ordered the cake. The cake has no chocolate in it whatsoever, which is
a true testament of my love. If I received a non-chocolate birthday
cake, I'd lock myself in the bathroom and sulk.

I don't think I'll go dancing. I'd like to think I'm above it all, that
I can just be me in the roaring crowd and do my own thing. But, alas,
put me in a group of twenty-somethings and I strive to be beautiful
just like everyone else. And it's hard, trying to be beautiful. I
usually wake up the next morning with an ache in my jaw from clenching
it (a handy trick if you're trying to convince those around you that
you actually have a chin).

I bought my partner a new device that vacuums, dusts, and waxes wood
floors. The entire top floor of our house, save the bathroom and
kitchen, has wood floors. Somehow, this gift makes me sad. It's the
age-old story of the frumpy housewife who gets an iron for Christmas,
and then cooks and cleans the entire holiday while the husband and kids
lounge about in pajamas. But we seem to be of an age where major
appliances are the norm, and I've fallen right into step with the
middle-classies who buy such things as gifts. Why?

I should note that later in the day, after I'd bought the gift, my
partner spread a 10'X12' rug (a hand-me-down from a friend) over the
floor in the TV room, thus covering the wood entirely. Perhaps a little
prescient rebellion on his part? I guess we'll never know.