Anniversary

"Here's a question," my wife quizzed me last weekend. "Do you know what day is it next Sunday?"

"Yes, I think it must be an important day," I nodded.

When I realized I was caught red-handed without much idea, I averted my eyes from my wife, the way a medical student stares down at his feet like he can find the answer to a professor's question written on his shoes.

I waited. I waited. I didn't really remember the exact day of our wedding anniversary, but I felt I shouldn't say so. "Very nice," I murmured, and "Mmhmm. I see." Then, bit by bit, I began to crack the code, finding out it's our twentieth anniversary since we tied the knot.

I felt ashamed of myself for taking so long to remember the important date. What had happened to my brain? And besides, I have been working for long hours lately, so much so that I didn't seem like to have remembered my home. I actually blushed.

At the end of the day - in case you're interested in my fate - I didn't get guillotined. This is the best gift for me: a safe haven offered by the person I love most in the world.