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The question

My wife asked me not to make a fuss about her 50th birthday. No presents, no party, no fanfare. So that's what I did. When her birthday came around, I gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her I loved her, then treated it like any other day. She was furious! Apparently I "took things a little too literally" and have been in the doghouse ever since. What can I do to make things right?

The answer

A man who gives his wife a kiss on the cheek as a present for her 50th birthday has so much to learn about women, and about life, I scarcely know where to begin.

Let me just do this (columnist rolls up sleeves) and get down to business.

For economy of expression, I may be forced to make a couple of generalizations along the way. Apologies to any female readers to whom any of the following does not apply.

First, brother, it's hard to understand how anyone could spend any time on the planet and not know this, but, generally speaking, women communicate a little differently from us men.

It's more ... uh ... indirect. Here's an example:

You: "Honey, would you like me to fry you an egg?"

Her: "Oh, no, I wouldn't want to put you to the trouble."

Wrong response: "Okay." (Shrug, crack single egg into pan, fry for self.)

Right response: "Oh, it's no trouble at all, darling. I'm making myself one anyway, and it would be not only my pleasure but indeed my honour to fry one for you also."

In other words, just because she says she doesn't want something doesn't mean she doesn't want it. You got that, hoss? Commit it to memory. Write it on your shaving mirror with a styptic pencil, if it helps to remember: It's a thought that will serve you well, I predict, on numerous future occasions.

Secondly, you must know that after 40, birthdays are no longer celebrated with the unalloyed joy they once were. They become a bittersweet emotional cocktail, a mortality martini in which weltschmerz is the gin, if you follow.

At least, that's how I feel. Turning 40 hit me like a Mike Tyson sucker punch.

I didn't think it would. In the rollup to the day I was joking around, organizing a party.

Then the day itself dropped on me like an Anvil of Doom. I didn't want a party. I wanted to dig a hole, crawl into it and cover it over with leaves and twigs.

I can't even freakin' imagine what it's gonna be like to turn 50.

I'm terrified! A nexus of horrible things happen all at once on the day, it seems to me.

The little voice that one has been attempting to disregard, the one that says, "Is this it? Is that all there is?" becomes more strident and harder to ignore.

Then, also, one is forced to confront the horrible thought that one can no longer (or at least no longer so much) trade on one's "potential."

One must begin to confront the awful thought: "Who I am and how it is ... that's probably pretty much who I am and how it's going to be - if I'm lucky."

One is forced to start thinking less and less in terms of the future, more and more in terms of the past.

And while some or all of this stuff is ping-ponging around in your wife's coconut, the only way you honour this occasion is a peck on the cheek? You're lucky she didn't say, "Gee, thanks, honey" with a slap across yours.

The other potentially deadly miscalculation you made, brother, is to fail to realize that, whatever women may say to the contrary (again, sorry to those to whom this does not apply), they love presents.

Not so much, in my observation, for the material rush a new necklace or watch or fur coat provides (though, obviously, it doesn't hurt), but for the tangible evidence they provide that you, stunned as you may be in other ways, are capable of putting together several thoughts about her that are, well, at least consecutive, even when she's not around. Something about which many women have grave (and in your case I would say well-founded) doubts when it comes to their spouses.

In other words, a present shows you care. So does organizing something on her behalf, or at least taking her out for dinner. But she got neither. She got bupkes - a kiss on the cheek -from you on the occasion of her 50th.

So, now? Well, I would say you've got to scramble.

The good news is, since you made no mention of her thumbing through the Yellow Pages looking for divorce lawyers, it sounds like it's still not too late.

Be like Nicolas Cage in The Family Man, if you've ever seen that movie. He forgets his anniversary, he's in the doghouse, but he pulls out of it with a romantic (i.e. expensive) dinner, relentless display of attention, numerous avowals and iterations re: what a lucky guy he is, and dances with his wife (played by Téa Leoni) in the restaurant, even though there's no music, in a corny, a.k.a. highly romantic, gesture.

Eventually, Téa Leoni's character cracks. She de-sours and sweetens. Then, later, in the hotel room he has rented for the occasion, the husband's fortunes change. Or, to put it another way, he gets lucky.

I wish the same for you, friendo.

If you would like to experience a similar uptick in your luck, I would suggest you put on your "romantic" beret and scarf prontissimo, and really sock it to her. Dinners, fine wines, presents, tender avowals, bouquets of flowers, and sweet nothings. Whatever it takes. Hit her hard with everything you can muster. Don't be afraid to lay it on too thick.

Woo your freshly minted quinquagenarian spouse as if the two of you were kids all over again.

David Eddie is a screenwriter and the author of Chump Change and Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad.

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