Finally, after months of planning, Tom’s surprise 40th birthday party took place last night. I went to so much effort to make it perfect for him. I spent hours making a book of his life with stories and photographs from all of his friends and family which we presented to him last night. I spent weeks with my sister and cousin rehearsing a medley of songs which we sang to him. I ordered a cake designed especially with all of his favourite things in mind. I hired and decorated a hall, paid for caterers and music for the night and even made secret trips to the airport throughout the day to pick up his friends and family who had all travelled here to surprise him. At the end of the evening, he told me that he wished I’d booked a different venue as the one I’d chosen looked cheap and he was embarrassed that his family were taken there and that he and his family would have been happier in a pub.
Tonight we carried on the celebrations, with all sixty-two members of his family, by having a meal at a restaurant in town which I’d also organised. He ignored me throughout the entire meal. Walking back afterwards, he said that he wished I hadn’t bothered doing anything as the whole weekend had just been stressful for him because of the hassle of having to keep his family entertained and that they’d have all been happier with something more low key.
He’s an ungrateful bastard and I wish I hadn’t bothered spending months of my time tiring myself out trying my hardest to make it perfect for him just because I wanted him to love me, because that’s what it boils down to. I was trying to gain his love and I failed.