OK, so Xmas is done, I’m back at work and I’m doing some numbers:
number of meals containing turkey consumed: 5, in 3 days.
number of alcololic drinks consumed: no idea. Lots, but not so many as I’ve developed liver failure yet.
number of kilos gained: enough to make my jeans not fit.
number of presents given: 25
number of presents bought after 4pm on Xmas eve: 5
number of presents my husband promised he’d give me: 0
number of presents he actually gave me: 5
number of presents I gave him. 0
Here’s the thing with the presents agreement: neither of us actually needs or wants anything in particular. (Well, apart from bleedin’ obvious things like another Testino photography book or indeed any other photography book, or films, or art, or….OK, so I want a lot of things. But I don’t NEED any of them.) So we make an agreement: we buy each other no presents, and treat ourselves to a dirty weekend away somewhere nice in January instead, which we both want AND need.
Sorted. We shake on it.
Now then, I, being the kind of kid who sticks to an agreement, bought him no presents. My husband, on the other hand, went out and bought me 5 of the most fantastic presents I’ve ever had. What a bastard! I mean, there I am, giving him….nothing, as per clause 1 of The Agreement, and there he is, lavishing presents on me that are so awesome and so me and so perfect that I’m in tears on Xmas day.
He is now in the dog house for a week, bien sur. And no dirty weekend away for you, mate – I’m busy playing with all my new presents.
(PS. Harry: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!!! Your Agreement-breaking is appreciated enormously xxx)
Happy Christmas all.