Christmas

Dear Santa…

Dear Santa…

Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash

This year, my one Christmas wish is to be able to find Husband a really awesome present. Budget restraints rule out a Porsche/holiday/Alienware gaming PC, so I have to be a little bit more inventive with what I buy.

The trouble is, Husband is bloody brilliant at buying me gifts. Gifts from the last few Christmas’ and birthdays include a Tassimo machine, a camera, an iPod Classic and dock and a mobile phone, amongst other things and if you know me, you’ll know these are all really great gifts for me. And these are just the big gifts, he always manages to surprise me with really thoughtful little gifts, out of the blue, too. At least three times a year, I’ll answer the doorbell to find a man with a huge bouquet of flowers, just because Husband wants to tell me that he loves and appreciates me. When I was in hospital, the day after having Sausage, which also happened to be our wedding anniversary, he turned up with a foot long Subway and every single book written by Stephen Fry.

I suppose the reason that Husband is so good at buying me gifts is that he knows me so well, coupled with the fact that he has an amazing memory, so he remembers every time I say “Wow, I really want a ….”, and manages to drag the information from the recesses of his brain at crucial times to surprise me. The trouble is, I have a shit memory, and am fairly self-involved, which means when Husband says “I really want a …” my brain goes “Ooh, yeah, that reminds me, I want one of these…”, and come holiday-season, I’m screwed.

The other problem I have is that I take things too far. Earlier in the year, Husband mentioned that he’d like a pad to sketch on. So I went on the internet and found a handmade, leather-bound journal, with organic unprocessed paper and a brass padlock. Now, I’m sure, with hindsight, that he just meant a run-of-the-mill pad of plain white sketching paper, but I saw an opportunity for an awesome gift and I ran with it. Only it’s not an awesome gift, is it? It would probably just sit there, looking all precious and too nice to tarnish with actual sketches.

I just don’t have the gift for buying gifts. I’m gift-impaired.

I know for a fact that Husband has bought me two Christmas presents already. And I just know that they’re going to be awesome and perfect, and something that I desperately want and don’t even remember mentioning to him. Which means that the pressure is on. I need to find him the perfect present, so that I deserve all the “wonderful wife” bouquets that I know he will buy me next year.

To the drawing board….or the Liverpool FC shop!

Humour · Life

The Ills

The Ills

Photo by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash

We have THE ILLS.

I was going to call this post ‘Sicker than your Average’ until I Googled ‘Slicker than your Average’ and realised that that’s the name of a Craig David album…see, I must be ill if my puns revolve around shitty UK Garage.

But yeah, we’re all ill. Sausage has dealt with it in her usual stoic and utterly admirable fashion, she really does epitomise the English stiff upper lip. I, on the other hand, have been feeling the need to proclaim how shit I feel on an hourly basis. Husband is feeling crap too and is probably a day or two ahead of me in the course of the illness, so everything I’m going through, he’s already dealt with.

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