You guessed it – as I clocked the envelope, box of chocolates and plant on the kitchen table, my heart sank.
I tried to style it out – of course I’d remembered, I just thought it would be nice to spread the presents throughout the day.
Given he’s known me since we were five, well, he knew.
But he went along with it, smiled and said “no worries – I don’t need anything”.
Conversely, if I’d remembered and he hadn’t I’d be wounded and pout all day.
After home school for primary one and two, placating a toddler and far too much coffee, I popped to the shops.
It’s hard to buy something thoughtful when the only shops open sell food – and the only one close enough in the time I had to pop out was a service station.
What did he really want, I mused as I wandered the three aisles at Birkhill Co-op.
I settled on a box of decaf tea (he really wanted that) which seemed marginally more romantic than a six pack of Tennents – which he already had.
Arriving home, excitement of excitements, a parcel had arrived.
As with many people, I’m trying not to spend willy nilly while much work is on hold. But I’d needed pants – big, comfy pants to be specific, to match clothing preferences of lockdown trackie bottoms and baggy tops, or “loungewear”as I believe they call it in parts of Edinburgh.
I’ve spotted in the papers a few celebs taking selfies in lockdown – dressing up by themselves in front of a mirror in sexy lingerie, full make up and heels.
Before lockdown I’d have envied their washboard stomachs.
Now, I just think – how can you be bothered?
This is not a time to show your perfect abs, tanned legs or private pool/gym/garden.
People have more on their minds.
I sense a shift in appetite for envy-inducing posts and the world of ‘celeb’.
It’s too self-absorbed for the here and now of actual life.
Back to my pants.
I laughed when I saw them – I’ve never seen such big briefs.
I put on the kettle, wrapped the box of tea bags in the only wrapping paper I could find – with snowmen and Santas in green and red boxes – and wondered if the waistband of my new pants might reach my chin. That would be nice.
My poor husband.
Lockdown has not turned me into a sex kitten.