For quite a while, The Squire and I have pretty much ceased giving each other gifts for Christmas or birthdays. As I often said of my dad, there’s a limit to the bottles of wine and pairs of socks you can give a man who doesn’t smoke or wear neckties, and The Squire doesn’t drink. I have all the jewellery I could ever wear (I’ve even begun “downloading” stuff), and it would be hard to find a vegetarian cookbook I don’t already own.
However, a few years ago The Squire gave me a pair of bedroom slippers that are just the best I’ve ever owned. They much resemble an Ugg boot, with an ivory knitted cable stitch top and a drawstring to tie them securely at the ankle. They are fleece-lined and have a sturdy sole. I have worn them to the point that both toes are well-mended with duck tape.
About a week ago, we got another holiday gift catalogue to add to the already tottering pile on top of the stereo, and they had MY slippers. I folded back the page, circled the slippers, and laid the magazine on The Squire’s keyboard. He was as pleased as I was, and dutifully ordered them for me.
As he tapped the last key, he reminded me that I was to act surprised on Christmas Day. “Oh! Wonderful! How did you know this was just what I wanted?”
thisendoftheswamp 
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