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Unfortunately, I have a habit of forgetting dates. Especially our wedding anniversary.  Fortunately, Oh Patient One (who is pretty good at remembering dates) also has a habit of forgetting the date of our wedding anniversary.

Not that we hated our wedding, or anything, because it was absolutely great. It was a lot of fun. We got married at Marylebone Town Hall in London (which used to be very popular with pop stars), then back to St. John’s Wood to my sister-in-law’s apartment for a party with family and friends, then off to Amsterdam for our honeymoon (was it at that point in time we decided that we loved the Netherlands and wanted to move there?) and that was fab, too.

No, we just decided early in our relationship that we would celebrate our anniversaries privately and quietly, and only make a fuss of the big ones. So from time-to-time we forget and remember a couple of days later. It’s no biggie, we always laugh about it, then use it as an excuse to go out for a nice dinner.

Well, this year it was a bit different. On Saturday night as we sat chatting and sipping wine on our balcony in the Rotterdam apartment Oh Patient One reminded me that we had an anniversary coming up on August 25th, so we planned to go out for dinner to de Stoep (the best place in Rotterdam to get spare ribs–if you are ever in Rotterdam it’s well worth a visit).

Anyway, on Tuesday morning we remembered to say “happy anniversary” to each other, and spent a nice, quiet day working on our books (Oh Patient One is a writer, too). The sun was shining and all was right with the world. Until that afternoon when I was instant messaging with No Longer Teenager No: #1. This is the conversation we had:

Me: “Got to abandon you and go get ready, sweetie – it’s our anniversary today and we’re off out to dinner.”

No Longer Teenager No #1: “But today’s the 25th, Mum. Your anniversary is August 23rd.”

Me: “No, it’s definitely today. Even Dad agrees, and you know that he’s usually good with dates.”

No Longer Teenager No: #1 (a bit exasperated, even in cyberspace: I could tell): “Mother, what are you like? It’s definitely the 23rd.”

So I asked Oh Patient One what he thought, and he said that it was definitely the 25th. By now I wasn’t so sure and thought I’d get out our marriage certificate (again) until I realized that it was at the house in England. Not one to be thwarted, I used teh googles to find a calendar for the year we got married, and guess what? No Longer Teenager No: #1 was right.

Me: “You are right. How could we make such a mistake?”

No Longer Teenager No: #1 (along with LOL and smilies): “Mother, that’s just so like you. Do you even remember the birth dates of your offspring?”

Me (a bit huffily, because I never forget their birthdays): “Of course I do. No woman ever forgets the excruciating pain of childbirth, it is etched inexorably on her brain and internal calendar. Even though all that pain was worth it. ”

Anyway, Oh Patient One and I had a good laugh about the dates muddle, and got ourselves ready to go out to dinner. Who cares if we were a couple of days late? But when we got to de Stoep there was a problem. It was fully booked. This is unusual for a Tuesday night. The Dutch universities open this coming week, and there was a big party of students booked in for that evening. But if we wanted to wait two hours then they could squeeze us in.

We got takeout from our favorite Chinese restaurant, instead. We know how to live.

PS. Oh Patient One secretly planned a surprise trip to Paris for our 20th anniversary. How romantic was that?

PPS. We both fell in love with Paris. Maybe that means we’ll live there someday, too. . .