From the Latin: Anniversarius

“You don’t do anything to celebrate your anniversary?”

“Not really.”

“You don’t go out to dinner or something?”

“Well, we go out to dinner often anyway. We live in New York.”

“You don’t exchange cards? Flowers*?”

“No, I don’t need to give or receive a piece of thick, expensive paper, folded and printed with a picture and someone else’s sentimental words to convey or feel love, especially based solely on the fact that the earth has revolved 365 days around the sun and it is the same date now, according to the Gregorian calendar, as it was the day we had a wedding.”

“You are strange!”

“I know, Grandma.”

I would like to state for the record that I share my grandmother’s assessment, and find myself highly annoying to boot. And yet, I remain unfilled with gushing sentiment about the fact that today is our anniversary, try as I might to feel something… anything… that is socially expected. (All of this changes, of course, should Rob suggest we celebrate with a trip to Disney World. Then I am all over that.)

*I managed to spare her the part of my speech where I go into the bit about the flower being a symbolic [and actually, a literal] vagina.