Let them eat cake

So yesterday was Mother's Day. Hope you had a pleasant time if it is relevant to you.

I had a lie in (which is good - very good), a necklace made of brown wool and dried pasta (which was very very thoughtful and meets this season's tribal theme BUT I don't really do brown, or dried pasta, so I have nothing to wear it with. Sorry!) and a card featuring a chimpanzee (which considering monkey's give me the freakin' willies big time wasn't so good - but it's OK, I just have to make sure I don't look at it).

All in all - everything was nice.

Unlike the disaster of two years ago.

At the time I was pregnant and had a small child (if you read this as 'I was a highly strung hormonal nutcase as mad as a bag of snakes' - then 10/10 - you are correct).

In the run up to Mother's Day my OH started to make a BIG thing about it. He said he was getting me something 'very special'. So special he had to take a detour after work to 'collect it'.

I felt a thrill of excitement. If he needed to collect it then surely that meant he'd had to order it? So it must be pretty special. Wow! He'd never got like this over a gift before - this really was something different!

Then he said 'it was something that I needed to make the most of getting now as one day we wouldn't be able to afford things like this'.

Wow and double wow!! It's something really pricey! I felt quite over-whelmed by his generosity. I really wasn't expecting anything so this was fantastic - I felt really treasured and special.

So treasured and special I told ALL my friends and my mum and just about everyone else. They all knew about the mysterious, clearly very expensive, present that he had to go and collect and they were as eager as I was to discover it's identity.

Guesses included personalised jewellery, a special photograph in a special frame or even........ AN ETERNITY RING!

By the time Mother's Day came I was a hive of excitement and anticipation.

I was awake bright and early and my heart was thudding with the thrill of it all when my son tottered into the bedroom to lay something in my hands.

I slowly opened my eyes.

There, lying in my hands, wrapped in celophane, was a slab of fruitcake.

Yes. A slab of fruitcake.

I looked at the cake, I looked at my son, I looked at my OH, I looked at the cake again, I looked back at my OH.

'Erm, it's a bit of cake?'.

'I knew you'd like it!'.

'Erm, is this it then?'.

'Yes!'.

'THIS is what you had to 'go and collect' and 'save up for?''.

'Well yes! It's from Waitrose!'.

'Are you seriously telling me that I need to prepare myself for a time when we wouldn't be able to save up for months to buy a slab of fruitcake from Waitrose?'.

'Erm, well, maybe'.

'You told me you had to go and collect it - like you'd ordered it in. Waitrose is next to your bloody office - that's not 'collecting something' - that is throwing a bit of cake in the basket when you buy lunch. IT'S NOT EVEN WRAPPED UP! You build me up for weeks about this mystery gift and then chuck a slab of fruitcake on the bed'.

'Don't you like it? It's Dutch! With apples in!'.

'Well yes, of course I like it, it's just that you made this big thing out of it and, erm, I've told everyone...and they are all waiting to find out what this amazing present is that you were saving up for and had to go and collect'.

'Oh. Oh my god. Oh. Whatever you do please please please you mustn't tell anyone. I'm so embarrassed'.

'Well what am I supposed to do when they ask what the big surprise was? LIE!? ARE YOU SOME KIND OF A NUTTER!? We have this cake regularly - it's not ever NEW cake!'.

At that moment my mobile starts chiming with texts as people across the globe (well across the town) start texting me to find out what the amazing gift was. You can imagine the the hilarity when I texted back 'A F***ING FRUIT CAKE'.

Of course I told them all. And now I'm telling the world......

He did make it up to me though - and he's the best guy in the world - so don't let the cake fiasco cloud your judgement of him.

It's his birthday tomorrow - Hopefully I can make up for my ingratitude.

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