Yesterday a polite, well-dressed Haitian man asked me to pee in a cup. It was not his fault this was the most interesting thing that happened on my 11th wedding anniversary; Monsieur Leblanc was just doing his job. Glen and I recently decided to increase the amount on my life insurance policy, so the insurance company sent someone to give me an ersatz physical and ask a lot of impertinent questions about my health history. Incidentally, some of those questions are almost impossible to answer. Have I ever undergone a diagnostic procedure such as MRI, CT scan, etc.? Well, sure, I've had at least one ultrasound every time I've been pregnant. Also I'm pretty sure they X-rayed my wrist when I broke it in 5th grade. And what were the dates of those diagnostic procedures? Uh ... maybe I should have studied for this.
Anyway, at the end of the exam/questionnaire session, I had to sign and date a document stating that I had answered the questions truthfully. As I wrote "4-18-09" on the line, I realized that it was my anniversary. As unlikely as it seems, we've managed to lower the bar for anniversary celebrations once again. At this rate, I almost expect that one of us will spend our anniversary in the hospital next time.
After M. Leblanc had departed with my vital stats and bodily fluids, I asked Glen if the date was indeed the 18th. He checked his watch and said yes. Just for fun, I waited another eight hours or so before I reminded him why the date should be of interest to him. We're both so tired from staying up with the baby at night that I doubt we'd have done anything to celebrate anyway, even if we had remembered sooner.
(Read about last year's anniversary fail here.)