An Open Letter to My Partner of 29 Years

Advice to anyone whose mate doesn’t like their birthday

First, An Apology

Happy birthday, partner.

I’m sorry for asking during our early January flight back to Paris from the south of France, “Should we rent that house again for your birthday?”

As you know too well — from 29 years of hearing questions about your birthday plans — this kind of exchange is emblematic of an unrewarding ritual in our relationship.

Months ahead of the actual day, I badger you about what you want to do on your birthday and where you want to do it. And what do you want for your birthday. What’s “special”? After all, I have to make the plans.

And each year, I who recently — and I might add, wisely — wrote about the importance of accepting a partner’s differences nevertheless act surprised, angry, even a little hurt when you deflect my questions and remind me that it’s your birthday and you’ll make plans when you’re ready and do what you want to do on that day.

In accordance with the “rules” of your birthday, I must spend that 24- hour period carrying out every command and wish. On that day in particular, I cannot make suggestions or plans that involve you.

Last week, again, I couldn’t help myself: “You’re going to take the day off on your birthday aren’t you?“

Admittedly, it’s a question designed to conceal multiple statements: You should take off on Friday, because it’s your birthday. I think birthdays are special, and so should you!”

I can’t blame you for being annoyed.

Your answer — “Maybe” — could have meant I have too much work to take time off or You’re not telling me what to do on my birthday. Or both.

Either way, the message is, once again, clear: I decide what I do on my birthday, not you.

And as I write this, dear partner, you are still at work…on your birthday. Man (or woman) plans, and God laughs.

But here’s the thing: You’re doing exactly what you love to do.

Your job on this particular birthday requires you to welcome an artist who donated a painting to the embassy. You were born to be an ambassador, a position you inhabit with humility, charm, and grace. Why take a day off from something you love just because it’s your birthday? (Unless you want to.)

A Promise

Dear partner, despite the incessant queries and the frequent slips, I have been trying to restrain myself this year. I’ve only partially succeeded but…

Didn’t I stop asking about your plans after five or six attempts?

Didn’t I act nonchalant when you finally named a restaurant you follow on Instagram, where no reservations are accepted and you — uncharacteristically — said you’d be willing to wait?

Didn’t I keep quiet about emailing the restaurant to ask if an exception could be made in our case? I know how you hate to wait. My motto is, “If you don’t ask, you don’t get.” In this case, I didn’t get.

Didn’t I not ask, “Other than dinner, what else do you want to do?”

You bet I didn’t.

In fact, I did such a good job of putting your birthday out of my mind that it completely disappeared from my prefrontal cortex.

Here’s the full truth, my dear one: Yesterday, when I called to ask if you’d like to dine around the corner (at a different restaurant) at 7 or 7:30, I didn’t realize that the reservation for “tomorrow” was June 3.

And this morning on your birthday, I still didn’t realize that June 3 — the day I’d been nagging you about for months — was finally here! It took me nearly an hour of coffee to say:

“Oh! It’s your birthday!”

I have, as my daughter reminded me today, forgotten several birthdays, much to her surprise and chagrin. She might be afraid I’m losing it, but I’ll bet you enjoyed and welcomed today’s lapse. I suspect that it made your day.

(Later, allowing you to read this piece before publishing it, I confirmed that suspicion. You were happy about my forgetfulness: “I liked it. I just thought you were following the rules!”)

Maybe it’s the start of something new…

Maybe I should try harder in the future to forget your birthday until it’s here. The only plans I need to make are for me — to help me disrupt this annoying and fruitless annual dance!

I will set a reminder to say happy birthday.

That way, I don’t have to worry about forgetting. And I don’t need to talk about it before the actual day.

I will make you Cream of Wheat.

It’s cereal to me, but it makes any day special for you.

I will buy little, thoughtful gifts — and an undated IOU for whatever you want when it occurs to you.

For the day itself, I’ll find small, meaningful, surprising tokens of affection. Don’t red roses speaks volumes?

I will stop wishing and/or expecting that someday you will look forward to your birthday.

I will abandon the fantasy of the perfect plan — something that will change a stance that’s served you well for… it’s not my place to say exactly how many years. It’s not going to happen, not even on a “big” birthday that ends in “0.”

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