Twelve years it was on Wednesday. We both forgot. Again.
'I knew November 26th was something,' said Common Law.
Good for her. I had no such niggling brain itches. It wasn't until this morning when I found myself gazing at an unopened box of cotton buds that the relevancy of this two days past date occurred to me. Why cotton buds? Once, in fucking Cork of all places, and before we hooked up, we both needed cotton buds. She doesn't remember this. She utilises her memory box for tastier tidbits.
Twelve years? Twelve years. Jesus. That seems way longer than ten years, or even eleven years. And much. much longer than six weeks or so. Twelve years is a long time. For sure, it's not as long as thirteen years, and not nearly as long as 4.55 billion years. But it's still a pretty long time.
The gemstone for a twelve year anniversary is jade. Yes, I did know that off the top of my head. Of course, we're not married so I don't suppose that this has any bearing on our lives. Which is a good thing as the word 'jade' no longer brings to Gimme's mind a pretty lump of rock, but rather an ugly lump of pig-faced moronic racism.
But despite there being no piece of paper floating about in the equation, I still firmly believe that we deserve presents. Her for putting up with me. Me for putting up with her putting up with me.