Yesterday was my birthday. Once again, it came and went without a whimper. No cake. No pie. I simply feel like my life is over.
To top it all off, my loving husband (and I write that with all the sarcasm I can muster) tells me that the Tretta Hat that I made for myself last night looks like Braytack's helmet in Stargate SG-1 on me.
The hat is lovely, by the way, and I look horrible in hats in general, and tend to stay away from them for myself, but this comment just took my breath away. Earlier, he said that I could have bought the hat and gloves from Walmart for $5. All the time and effort I put into the items seemed to have meant nothing. And it was my first pair of gloves I'd ever made--EVER. And I made them for him.
Add to that, the socks that I fretted for hours over making increases for his bunions so that the socks wouldn't "wear" there--and guess what? He doesn't like them. I'm going to unravel them and make socks for myself--the yarn is WONDERFUL. He didn't like the reinforced heel--he said it felt "too stiff". He doesn't wear them. I should make something nice for me out of the yarn. How very disappointing!
I suppose you know that next year, he's getting a rock.
Plus all this, he had said that he had "planned" to take me to the restaurant for dinner on my birthday, but that I had screwed it all up by needing to eat lunch when we were out driving around over to my mother's house to give my gifts to them (the piggie socks and the printer for my son, plus a dishcloth that I whipped up in a couple of hours)--and I HAD to eat--it's not like I can go without food anymore now that I have diabetes, right? Not only that, but he made such a big deal about buying me a lunch, embarassed me in front of the clerk at the restaurant, and just generally made himself into the worst man I've ever known.
And it was my BIRTHDAY.
So today, I feel totally sucky. Like nobody loves me again this year. Next year, I'm working through the holidays. At least people treat me nice there. Perhaps if my husband spends some time home alone, he'll remember how lonely it is. Grr.