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I didn’t get my wife any Ferrero Rochers. I got her a bag instead. She was happier with that. She doesn’t particularly like Ferrero Rochers and so I think 256 would have been too many for her. And in case she already broke the contract by eating the previous years’ Ferrero Rochers when she was supposed to build a pyramid with them. And I think, in some ways, having a baby is more of a testament to our love than a chocolate pyramid. But only in some ways. Not even in most ways.
So it turned out there was another option to get out of the exponential nightmare and that was just to stop doing it. But it’s got me thinking. If I can stop giving Ferrero Rochers to my wife then I can stop doing anything. I can stop doing my blog every day. I can stop playing snooker against myself. I am free from the tyranny of compulsion.
I have made nearly all of my wife’s dreams come true (and all of the nightmares), but she did get two versions of the Ferrero Rocher pyramid at our wedding (was that really nearly four years ago? - kudos to me for staying married this long). So maybe I should move on to other stuff on her bucket list.
We had a really cracking Valentine’s Day even without the hazlenutty chocolate built into unusual shapes. We had a glass of champagne in the stupidly expensive champagne bar at the Westfield, whilst I attempted to entertain and placate our daughter so she wouldn’t spoil the romantic vibe for the other couples there (by reminding them of where all their misplaced romance would eventually lead if they weren’t very, very careful). I think the other couples were jealous. My wife and I love each other so much that our love has taken on another human form. We’ve literally spliced ourselves together to make another person. We are magic. Take that ordinary humans. Bet you wish you could demonstrate love like that.
And this evening we went to a posh restaurant overlooking the Thames. We had left it a bit late to book so we had to go at 5.30pm but that suited us, because it meant we could be in bed by 9.30 and doing that thing that all parents want to do on Valentine’s Day: sleep. Catie’s mum was looking after the baby and so we could sleep until after 6.30am too if we wanted. Ah sleep. I never appreciated you so much. What a fool I was.
The Thames was choppy and in the darkness the lights on the bridge outside made it look like we were being attacked by tripod Martians from the War of the World (but luckily my wife had a cold so we had nothing to fear) and we got lightly pissed and forgot we were parents and I made her laugh my misremembering Nirvana lyrics and ruining the songs. “Come as you are, you look very nice, just wear whatever you’re wearing. It’s quite informal…†and so on. After a tricky and tired week it was just the kind of fun and release we needed. I am delighted to have made a human being with this woman. I hope it got more than 50% of her DNA.
