When it comes to big occasions, women
are from Earth and men are from, I dunno, somewhere
At the risk of trafficking in sexual stereotype, my guess is that
men forget their anniversaries more than women.
Women have this knack for remembering these things. My wife,
Jessica, can - and will - recite where we ate, who we were with,
what she was wearing at every anniversary in our married lives.
Even if I think she might be recalling a detail incorrectly, I've
learned long ago not to argue, not to even open my mouth. If I say
something like, "Didn't you wear the blue dress that night?" I risk
the opening of a new avenue, nay, a new subdivision of my behavior
that goes far beyond inattentiveness or forgetfulness. "The blue
dress? You're thinking of the Christmas party at Stan and
Mildred's. That was years ago. You remember. You danced with
Whatsername? Red hair? Strappy heels? Remember?"
Now I would be remembering.
So I've learned that when she talks about our anniversaries, I just
nod, as if I remember, too. Faking remembering is almost always
better than being jarred into actually remembering.
Personally, I'm not altogether certain exactly what the big deal is
about anniversaries. But she probably doesn't fully realize just
how deeply I feel about a new grill. She tries to understand, as I
meas-ure the square footage of the cooking surface and calculate
the impact of indirect heat on upper-tier meats. But the
relationship between a man and his grill is, I think, something
most women can only accept. And so it is with me and anniversaries.
Unfortunately, it's not just anniversaries, either. It's birthdays,
too. Like you, I was told by some nerdball in junior high that the
celebration of a birthday is itself an anniversary of your
birthday, not actually your birth DAY. In terms of a birthday
dovetailing nicely with the theme of this column, I'm appreciative.
BUT I DON'T CARE. To me, the point isn't whether birthdays are
anniversaries, too. The point is that women remember them both.