The Christmas shopping search is officially underway and all our columnist wants is a surprise … is it really that difficult?
• It has started. The questions and probing from my husband about what I’d like for Christmas. ‘Don’t say nothing because I fell for that one year and never again. You sulked until St Stephen’s night,’ he said, imploring me for some ideas. Now, few things drive me crazier than being asked what I’d like.
We’ve clocked up a fair few years together so I feel that he should be in tune with me, and should automatically know what I’d like, and more importantly what I wouldn’t like (if unsure he can refer back to 2013, 2018 and 2020). It’s really not that hard ... well maybe it is a tad!
• I get how things might be a bit tricky for my husband and will admit how there’s a bit of a gap (more like a massive disconnect) between how I present myself in real life, and how I imagine myself to be. My pink fluffy jumper (PFJ) is a good example of this. I’m not certain how this jumper came into my life but one thing’s for sure, it’s never leaving. I think it belonged to one of my sisters and I ‘acquired’ it on a family camping trip a few years back and since then it’s become one of my most treasured items.
There’s probably only a fortnight around mid-July where I have to discard it for something lighter, but otherwise it’s a year-round fixture. Having said that, I’ll readily admit that it’s hugely unflattering (it almost comes down to my knees), and is probably more suited to a teenager. There’s a pouch pocket on the front which is ripped on one side, so half of it flops forward which is as tatty as it sounds, and while I keep saying I must sew it, I probably never will.
It’s not even all that fluffy anymore either, and it’s also stained in a few spots here and there. Oh, and it has a hood. If the hood is up, that’s generally a bad sign, and it’s best to give me a wide berth. So, me wearing this not-so-fluffy, slightly stained, oversized, ripped jumper is what greets my husband when he comes home from work, and basically most other times of the day, particularly if I’m feeling a bit cold/a bit tired/not quite myself/a bit hungry etc. Not surprisingly he often remarks: ‘God, you really do love that, that ... that...don’t you?’ I can’t quite put my finger on the expression in his eyes when he says this but it’s probably somewhere between resignation and desperation.
Anyway, all that said, you might think I’d be delighted if he actually got me a new PFJ. Wrong! I would be horrified. Insulted even. While everything else suggests otherwise, I manage to convince myself the PFJ is just a temporary fixture in my life, offering some comfort from the harsh realities of being an adult, sort of like a hug in a sweater. It doesn’t represent the ‘real me’ at all! The real me is more of a cashmere lounge set person, or an interesting silk kimono type creature. Yup, that’s the real me. And my husband should know that, so he should.
• It’s a minefield alright, but it’s still a hard ‘no’ to fluffy jumpers. But it’s a ‘yes’ to earplugs. We are actually in dire need of a ‘his and hers’ set. For years, I’ve been complaining about my hubby snoring but as mortified as I am to admit it, I’ve developed the habit too. I was denying all responsibility until I actually managed to wake myself up ... snoring. The shame! The snoring has turned us into that couple from Fr Ted, John and Mary, who tear strips off each other at night and then in the morning we’re like: ‘Morning honey, sorry I tried to kill you last night with a pillow and said that I hated you and wanted a divorce. I didn’t mean it. We all good?’ Now, sometimes I’ll harbour some lingering resentment as I love my sleep, but if a coffee is offered as part of the peace offering then, yes, we’re all good! But anyway, Santa could do worse than bring us proper, hardcore ear plugs. The ones I’ve been using are from a long haul flight, and now that I think about it, I haven’t been on a long haul flight in around 15 years. That’s pretty manky, isn’t it?
Earplugs could be the Christmas stocking filler to win favour for Emma. (Photo: Shutterstock)
• I’m on a roll now. It’s also a firm ‘no’ to a hamper of any kind. The only good thing about a hamper is the initial three-second thrill you get when you first see it and that dopamine high hits. After that it’s just a massive disappointment, as you the discover the random chutneys, odd salts, and weirdly flavoured chocolate that no one likes. You can’t even re-gift them as hostess pressies either as they scream ‘rejected hamper items.’ No one could possibly think: ‘Oh, you saw pistachio jam, chili salt that’s out of date in a month and Turkish delight and you thought of me? You did yeah!’ It’s a ‘no’ to any kind of beauty gift sets as well – I have arrived at the stage in life where all my treatments need to have ‘laser’ in their titles. Lotions and potions are no longer going to cut it I’m afraid.
• It’s a ‘no’ to hotel breaks too. Unless it’s to some out-of-this-world six star destination in the Seychelles, I’d rather stay at home than risk getting bed bugs. I’m gone so odd that when I walk into a hotel room and see those little throws that are usually draped across the bottom of the bed and the cushions, that I’ll just rip them right off (they can’t be washed between guests!) and then start inspecting the mattress. By then my husband will have declared that I’ve taken all the good out of it while I insist that I’m just trying to save us from scabies. I’ll try to rescue the situation by opening the mini bar and popping a mini tub of Pringles but to be honest my neurotic tendencies have ruined hotel experiences for ever more. It’s a ‘yes’ to a steam cleaner though .... they’re meant to be the business for cleaning mattresses!
• It’s also a ‘yes’ to a menopause coach. I didn’t know such a person existed until I saw Sharon Horgan’s character out jogging with hers in the first episode of the new series of Bad Sisters and now I feel that I absolutely need one in my life. I’m pretty sure my husband will agree with me on that one too. Now, the jury is out, whether my general irritability is due to my personality or hormones, and if my back fat is due to my love of cheese or again, those hormones, but this is something me and a meno coach could definitely discuss (over cheese and wine). Hopefully that’s provided some inspiration for anyone who has to buy for a moderately-mad, middle-aged woman this Christmas. Just make sure you keep the receipts for everything though, just to be on the safe side.
