Family Matters

The thoughts of a husband, father, brother and son

Captain Cock-Up’s Contribution to Christmas (Part 1)

It’s with great sadness that I report that my Christmas present to my wife (aka The Beautiful Armenian) has gone tits up.  I love the phrase “tits up”, but I use it here with heavy heart.

She is a MASSIVE fan of Strictly. Sorry for the shouty capitals, but it is the only way to describe just what a MASSIVE fan she is. I’m quite happy to go along with this, because for me the show is pure, unadulterated sex. Has a more lust-fuelling creature than Kristina Rihanoff ever graced our living-room screens? I would suggest not.  The verdict of my female colleagues that she is little more than a “Russian tart?” How wrong. How very, very wrong.

Gorgeous, pouting Kristina

And so, in a moment of rare and recent inspiration, I asked myself when considering things festive, “Toby, could there be any better way of showing that wonderful woman who is your wife just how much you love her than to surprise her on Christmas morning with a pair of tickets for Strictly Live in Birmingham in January and a booking for a night in a fancy hotel?” I didn’t have to think for very long before answering with a resounding No.

I feared I may have left things a little late, but all went well. The tickets were booked. A room reserved in the same hotel we stayed at for TBA’s 40th. My parents put on notice to look after the Small Boy Wonder on the night in question. Perfect. Realising that the tickets would be delivered by post, I even had the foresight to instruct The Beautiful Armenian in the following terms: “If anything arrives which is addressed to me, you must promise me  – you must absolutely promise me – that you will not under any circumstances open it.  Do I make myself clear?” I could see that her curiosity was aroused (it’s my finely tuned perception), but the promise was made.

So what could possibly go wrong? Let me tell you what went wrong.

I came home from work one day this week to find TBA in high heels and low-cut top. Before I’d really had chance to reflect on this being unusual – for a weekday at least –  she took me to another room. “I have to tell you this,” she said. “I’ve thought about trying to hide it, but I can’t.”

I really am not joking when I tell you that the look on her face was such that I did think, this is where she tells me that it’s all been a sham, that we’ve been living a lie; she’s been shagging Brendan Cole, and the children aren’t mine.

In fact it was worse.

Brendan

She’d opened the envelope with the tickets in.

Why? A schoolboy error, I’m afraid. The initials of our first names are the same. The ticket company had just used initial and surname.  No Mr or Mrs.  She thought the letter was addressed to her.

The saddest bit was that it had made her so happy she’d cried. And I wasn’t there to see it.  It would have been such a lovely moment on Christmas day.  The kids and her mother would probably have joined in the weeping as well.

But never mind.  We’ve still got the night itself to look forward to.

And in this house, in case you’re wondering, tomorrow we will be rooting for Chelsee.  Big time.

Come on, Chelsee!

 

Advertisements

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: