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Anniversary Antics

by Ruth Ainley

OK, I admit, I’m an old-fashioned girl and as such I tend to expect the more traditional type of pressie when the need arises.  You know the type of thing – lingerie, jewellery…a blank cheque.  However, Hubby No. 2 had different ideas…

Hubby No. 2 was quite the DIY enthusiast – he had to be.  Our first home was little more than a shell having four walls, a roof through which you could see daylight and windows which rattled in their frames during a strong wind – or even a slight breeze.  However, after several months living with the in-laws, said ruin resembled a palace in my eyes and, after tidying up the inconsequential little things like roof, walls and running water, hubby began to concentrate on the bits that make a house special – interior walls, internal doors, central heating… 

And as we worked (yes, I did assist) the year turned from autumn to winter and our first wedding anniversary approached. 

Determined that said anniversary would be special, I trotted into town and spent an obscene amount of money in Ann Summers.  And, returning home, I had a smile upon my face, confident that I would soon be putting a smile upon hubby’s face… 

The day arrived and we exchanged presents.  But as I ripped off the wrapping paper, I found that hubby had opted for a ‘useful’ present.  Yes, staggeringly astute, he had given me just what I’d always wanted…an electric sander.

“Better than sandpaper, it’ll save you hours,” he gleefully informed me as I stared in disbelief at the gadget. 

I smiled – almost – and watched as hubby delved into the shiny gift bag and began to extricate his presents:- fluffy handcuffs, blindfold and a copy of the Kama Sutra…the pop-up version.  

As an amused smile flitted across hubby’s face I reached for the fluffy handcuffs and, dangling them from one finger, I leant forward and whispered in his ear: “Work stops at 5pm tonight.”

And with that edict hanging in the air, I plugged in my electric sander and began to sand the first of many doorframes.

The day wore on and hubby, blissfully happy, hammered, chiselled and sawed.  Meanwhile, I watched the clock until, at 4pm, I escaped to the kitchen.  Smoked salmon, champagne, chocolates – yes, everything was ready.  Now it was my turn.

Braving the sub-zero temperatures in the bathroom, I ran a bath and was soon soaking in a rose-scented sanctuary, oblivious to all forms of DIY.  And as I lingered, the wind howled, the windows rattled and ice began to form on the surface of the bath water...

Reluctantly, I emerged from the comparative warmth of the scented bubbles and, shivering, scuttled into the bedroom to slip on the silk and satin frills I had purchased.  I then arranged myself provocatively upon the bed and waited…

Several hours later I woke myself up snoring…and the sounds of DIY drifted to my ears.  Slightly miffed, I scuttled downstairs to find hubby still working.  But this was our first wedding anniversary and, refusing to admit defeat, I draped myself alluringly against the doorframe and coughed gently to attract hubby’s attention.  Two minutes later he raised his eyes from the small-bore copper piping he was wrestling with.  

“There you are, luv, I got a bit delayed,” he explained, nodding towards his small-bore. 

As I felt the first stirrings of indignation hubby, blissfully ignorant, reached for a sandwich that was lying on the mantelpiece.  “I was famished,” he offered by way of explanation as he bit into the culinary confection.  “Nice fish this.”  And I gazed in disbelief at the smoked salmon hanging out from between two slices of Mother’s Pride. 

Indignation turning to fury, I attempted to flounce from the room, but my silk and satin confection caught on a splinter and, with a shriek, I stopped mid-flounce.  And seeing my distress my knight in shining armour abandoned his small-bore and came to my assistance…

But did the knight console his distressed wife?  Nope.  Freeing the captive silk from the doorframe (yes, it was one of the many doorframes I had sanded earlier that day) the knight proceeded to critically survey my handiwork, tenderly running his fingers up and down the aged wood.  And then he turned his soft brown gaze upon me and I waited with bated breath for the gentle words of love I felt certain he was about to utter.  But what words fell from his lips? 

“You’ve left a rough bit there, luv.  Will I fetch your sander?”