I shouldn't really complain because it’s hardly something to get grumpy about, but my husband is annoyingly good at buying presents.
It was our sixth wedding anniversary on Friday. When you reach 50 years, it’s a golden anniversary, 25 years is silver. Six years is, apparently, iron. I warned him if he went for the obvious, he was likely to have one extremely grumpy wife.
I think, for a moment, he was tempted to run the risk – just for a laugh – but thought better of it.
It’s been driving me bonkers, because for the past few weeks, I’ve known that he had my present all sorted, and I knew it was going to be different.
Last year, our fifth, was wood. He bought me a necklace with a wooden heart on it, and our initials engraved on the back.
And so the competition was on, to make my present to him better than his to me. I tried, to coin an awful phrase, to think outside the box.
I was pretty pleased with my final choice – a non-iron shirt, and a branding set for your barbecue. You choose the message you want on your meat, put the letters in the holder, heat it up on the barbecue and stick it into your steak.
For a man who loves cooking, I thought it was quite inspired. But he still managed to top that. My present? An iron horseshoe. Along with a riding lesson at our nearby stables, something I’d said last year I’d love to learn, and he’d remembered.
Thoughtful, probably, but maybe he’s just after a good laugh. “Good luck with that,” said my mum, when I told her. “All I can say is, stay away from water.”
She’s right, because the last time I got on a horse, I promptly fell off it and found myself up to my waist in a muddy river – and spent the next hour glaring at my husband as he tried to contain his laughter.
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