It’s My Birthday, and I’ll Cry if I Want to

Birthdays are like Christmas to me–I love them. There is no better time to make things all about you, and I milk this like an expert. Every year I send out a birthday wish list–sounds demanding to some, but really it’s the only way to ensure you get exactly what you want. Surprises are for children–no reason to pretend I want perfume when I really want a David Yurman bracelet. Anyway it’s that time again and this year is particularly amazing because I have 3 things going for me:

1. A boyfriend–how wonderful it is to have a boyfriend on your birthday (this also applies to Christmas, New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s day). This may seem insignificant to some (e.g., those people who are never alone...bitches), but it’s a big deal to me because I never seem to have a boyfriend on my birthday.

2. I’m 10 lbs lighter than I was on my last birthday.

3. I’m getting diamond earrings.

This almost seems too good to be true (maybe it’s the Rapture). Oh, so I guess I should give a little history about these earrings. Years ago, I inherited my grandmother’s precious diamond earrings (diamond princess cut studs–1.5 total karat weight). I often admired them as a teenager when I understood the importance of diamonds, but before then when I was a child playing dress up, my grandmother would finish my look by adding red lipstick and these beautiful earrings. (It wasn’t until 2 years ago that I would wear red lipstick again.) My aunt often mocked my grandmother for her “gaudy taste” as she called it. My grandmother would always reply, “only people who can’t afford large jewels find them gaudy.” a statement she got from the great Elizabeth Taylor and one that I carry with me to this day. The earrings were flawless. I adored them for nearly 2 decades and one horrible day or drunken night (I blocked the memory) I lost one. I would like to believe the weeks of crying were due to the connection the earrings had with my childhood, but I knew it had more to do with the loss of a diamond. Because I had come to let these earrings define me (sad, I know) I would tell anyone who listened the story of their loss, including my then boyfriend (I told him the real story–about what the earrings meant to my childhood and their connection to my grandmother).

He told me that one day he would buy a replacement pair, and he’s keeping his word. I know you're wondering how I know. Well, we share a laptop–okay, we don't really share, but he uses mine and vice versa. I was going through the internet history (not stalking, just cleaning the cookies–wink) and I noticed a few searches to some jewelers. I synced his blackberry calendar to the information of one store in the area and noticed it was on his to-do list the day before. So what if I happened to be in the area and accidentally bump into the most unattractive sales girl in the store and tell her how I adore her outfit and ask where could I find the fabulous pair of shoes she was wearing (She should have known I was lying). And so what if she gets to chatting and the next thing I know I’m asking if a man with my boyfriend's description came to the store and she states “yes” and tells me that he put the most exquisite pair of diamond earrings on hold and should be returning tomorrow to pick them up. All a coincidence. The point is, this is going to be the best birthday ever!

“So, honey, I was thinking of something romantic for your birthday–something local but nice. A 5-star hotel in the city and a nice dinner,” he says.

“Sounds perfect!” I say, gleaming with joy.

“This is going to be the most memorable birthday ever!” he says enthusiastically.

It’s the day of my birthday and I’m going through the day at various grooming appointments (hair, manicure, pedicure, and wax). I already have the perfect outfits for dinner and night time activities. We arrive at the hotel around 5 p.m. Dinner is not scheduled until 7. We sip champagne (I hate champagne but it goes with the picture-book romantic scene) and we do a little lightweight making out, and then it's time to get dressed. I pull my hair back to show off my soon-to-be new gift. Everything is in place except the earrings. (I purposely don’t bring a pair since I’m getting earrings for my birthday!)

“Baby, do you want your gift now or at dinner?” he asks.

I contemplate. I would love to open my gift at the dinner table just as the waitress is approaching. I imagine her, blinded by the reflection, saying “Oh, can I see?” And then I hold them up and her mouth drops open. But I would hate going outside without earrings, so I opt for the gift now.

“Gimmie, Gimmie!” I dance around.

“Okay, calm down, baby–I just want to say happy birthday, and I love you dearly,” he says, choking up a little.

“Aww, thanks bab, I love you too.” I reply.

He pulls out a Tiffany’s box from behind his back. “Tiffany’s? No way!” I think. I’m not one to question gifts, but diamond earrings from Tiffany’s had to have set him back. I mean, this is even a bit much for me. Wait, what if it’s not earrings but an engagement ring? We haven’t been dating that long, but I would never ever turn down an engagement ring from Tiffany’s – that is, depending on the size, clarity, and cut (in that order). I’m nervous now. Am I ready to be a wife? Have we dated long enough? Do I know his favorite color (yellow)? I do.
As I untie the bow, my heart is racing. I keep looking up to see if he has gotten on one knee. I open the box–he’s still standing. (Okay, you are not going to ask me to marry you unless you’re on one knee and you say my full name somewhere in the proposal.) Box open (standing), I pull the foam filler back (still standing) and there it was, staring at me. My eyes began to well up with tears. (Oh, stop it, you'd better not cry!) 3 tears fall, then 10 more. I’m officially crying. I leap up to hug him, “Oh, baby, thank you so much for the necklace–I love it!” (A necklace, not earrings, but a fucking necklace) "Oh, baby, I didn’t realize you would be so emotional. I’m so happy you like it,” he says. (Note to self: if I decide to have children, I must teach them to be more grateful than their mother) He intercepts my thoughts:
“I really wanted to get you the earrings, but my mother thought it was too much too soon.”

“Your mother?” I whisper. I’m balling now.

“Yeah, I told her the story of the earrings and she thought it was a great gesture but it would be a better gift for later in the relationship.”

(Don’t say anything bad about his mother, don’t say anything bad about his mother, don’t say anything bad about his mother. Ok ready … deep breath, speak)
Well, honey, we are in this relationship together, and I think it’s important that you make decisions based on how you feel and not how other people feel. (Because frankly, your mother doesn’t have to fuck, suck, or smell your shit daily.)

“I know, but she’s my best friend and I value her opinion,” he replies sheepishly.

(These people can suck it already with their my-mother-is-my-best-friend crap. Your mother birthed you––she is not your best friend. If she was your best friend, she would know about the threesome you had junior year in college, the week you and your friends bet $100 dollars for every chick you could screw, and the time you almost got arrested for fighting.)
I understand. I love you, and in the future I just want to make sure we are doing things that make us happy (and by "us," I mean "me"), agreed? I say this while wiping my nose from all the crying.

“Agreed" he smiles.

“Thanks for the necklace–do you mind helping me put it on before we go to dinner?” I reluctantly ask.

“I’m happy you love your gift; I knew this would be a memorable birthday," he says while clasping the necklace.

Indeed it was!