No, this isn’t a memoir. Rather, it’s an account of how conspicuous I was at the local emporium while buying some celebratory items for my wife on this our 46th wedding anniversary.

In my childhood, one of the “marital vaudeville” tropes was that of the husband who forgets that today is our anniversary, dear. Many husbands on 1960s sitcoms were at best adorably befuddled, at worst cold and uncaring, when it came to remembering such things. I wasn’t watching sitcoms much after the early 70s, so I don’t know if that trope continued, or continues. But I’ve never forgotten it. Silly husbands!

So early on I resolved never to forget that today is our anniversary, dear. What I didn’t know until it happened was that the day would be so entirely unforgettable that I’d have to be in a coma to overlook it. The unforgettable part is, of course, all about the woman I married. But you knew that.

Still, I suspect that even if the befuddled husband trope isn’t entirely absent in contemporary culture, there’s still some, shall we say, ambient admiration for the husband who obviously is not forgetting. (I pass over in silence the question of whether I am befuddled in other areas–I’ll leave that as an exercise for the reader.)

Today, our 46th wedding anniversary, I was obviously not forgetting. My cart had a colorful bouquet on board and a HAPPY ANNIVERSARY balloon floating above it. The floral department lady commented on how gorgeous the bouquet was–“like a meadow with such variety”–and the self-service checkout lady wished me a happy anniversary and asked if Alice and I were going out to eat tonight. I replied that we’d done that last night because the forecast called for rain tonight. I then reassured her that we’d be going out for gelato tonight. “Oh, so you’re celebrating over two nights, then,” she said. “Indeed yes,” I said, “and when we come to our 50th, we’ll celebrate for a full week.” (You heard it here first.)

Encouraged by all the support I’d received, I finished checking out and wheeled my cart into the parking lot. Coming up on my right, walking quickly past with his own cart, a fifty-something man called out, “you’ll get some brownie points for that!” His cry made me think of all the sitcoms of my childhood. Had he suffered because of his befuddled anniversary mistakes? Or was this just a pat on the back from a fellow husband? Perhaps posterity will judge.

But enough with the anecdotes and speculation. Instead, I close this post with certainty:

Happy anniversary Alice, with all my love!