Guilt trip is best anniversary gift
It is truly a moment to savour.
It’s best to wait until the eyes are fully open, but the brain is still looking for the keys to the control and command centre and not quite engaged with the world. Say good morning, then, happy anniversary, and just watch. As they say in the credit card advert, it’s priceless.
Watching the dawning realisation that He Has Done Something Wrong beats nine bells out of even the greatest of Scotland’s sunrises.
Now how it plays next is up to you. You can dial the Diva up to 11, with Hogmanay firework standard emotional pyrotechnics, complete with tears and tantrums, but seriously, princess, that’s just a waste of resource. There’s no point in getting mad at him.
It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you because he hasn’t arranged a bouquet the size of St Giles’, a selection of scent from Jenners, a champagne breakfast in bed (messy) and mariachi band to wake you (noisy).
He is a man, after all, and remembering stuff, especially the day he said “I Do”, is not something that registers on the list of priorities.
The car needing the timing belt changed, now, that is firmly in the drawer labelled “Important Things”.
No, there is much mileage to be had from the forgotten anniversary, my younger sisters. Pout that lip and bravely say it doesn’t matter. Hand over your small remembered gift – although, to be fair, I hadn’t actually bought anything – and card and say something like “Oh, its just a wee something from the Malt Whisky Shop. Oh look, I’ve left the label on, sorry. Yes, that is the price” with a brave wee tremble in your voice.
Sisters, you will not do the dishes for the next month. Those shelves, that squeaky door and that bit of the carpet that needed nailed down? Hit that list now, whilst the guilt wave is still hot. Trust me, there are better presents than perfume and badly considered lingerie.
At our end, he’s put up the pictures in the hall and he’s agreed to go sofa shopping.
Drink in story of port’s past
Jings, but we have been busy at history festival HQ. Oh yes, it’s that time of the year, when a festival with, like, no official funding, uses every means at its disposal to get the word out – and this is getting that word out.
This year’s festival is looking amazing with incredible events, some of which will include wine.
Not the children’s events, of course. That’s not generally a good thing, although if you do look at our past, we actually drink less alcohol, not more. Why, enough claret came through the Port o’ Leith to supply every man, woman and child with something like two pints of the stuff a day. Now there’s a thought as you stick the Vimto carton in the school lunch box.
November 13-30, look out for it, it’s going to be great.
Learn the rules before you go dating
Yup, we’ve been out of the dating game, him and me, for a long time now. But my mate Jaxx is out there again looking for Mr Right. It should be fun, I thought, wining and dining with chaps in the some of the nicest restaurants in the city.
Why, when we were youngsters, The Little Chef was a perfectly acceptable date and the Surf ‘n’ Turf at Stakis was haute cuisine. The boys wore Brutus jeans and so much of their dad’s aftershave the entire bus queue outside the Wimpy could taste it.
No, she sighed, its not. There are rules if you want to date my mate. One, do not appear in shorts. Ever. No first date in Scotland, even in the summer, has ever gone well if you appear in shorts. For one thing, you’ll get tramlines along the back of your legs from the seat and will look silly.
Two, not a good idea to sit down and tell your date just what a complete horror your first wife was and then remark how much the lady opposite resembles her.
She’s still looking, ever hopeful. I just know Daniel Craig would love her. Anyone got his number? What? He’s married? Bet he doesn’t forget his anniversary.
It’s a pants idea – put them back
MIND you, there’s is a school of thought that says that when he married, he basically transferred much of the ‘remembering stuff like birthdays and anniversaries’ over to me, so it’s basically my fault.
Oh, and if you are a young man suddenly aware of the looming anniversary, discard the underwear idea now. What you think we want to wear and what we wear are two different things. Put the pants back. They are probably the wrong size anyway.