Slave for a Day

Tomorrow is Martha’s birthday. She always makes a list of gifts she wants. But the traditional gift is that I am her slave for the day. This usually entails doing her chores - make the coffee, unload the dishwasher, iron her clothes, vacuum the house, clean the litter box, come up with dinner,  and anything else she wants me to do. For everything she does to keep the house running all year, it seems like a small gift to give in return. At least when her birthday is on a weekday. When it falls on a weekend, it is a bitch. When it falls on Thanksgiving, slave day gets postponed to whenever she wants it.

At the stroke of midnight she will wake me up to start her day with birthday wishes and a little loving. Hopefully, she will let me sleep for a few hours before I get up and make her breakfast, pack her lunch for work, and get to some of the chores. As soon as she gets out of work we are driving down to pick up Beanie at college, who will be coming home for Thanksgiving break. I made reservations at an historic tavern located on the way back. And that will be her favorite gift - the whole family together for dinner. When we get home, she will open her gifts and have more requests that will keep me up long after my normal bedtime.

On Wednesday I will recuperate. On Thursday I will very thankful birthdays come only once a year.