This is what I usually wonder when my husband (of 26 years) Albert hands his Christmas gift to me.

For an Italian he gives me the lamest gifts (in true stereotypical fashion you would think he would be great at this stuff), so much so that I now have very low expectations. Worse gift ever? The foot spa (oh yes). It was one of those plug in ones, electricity and water – weren’t we warned about this mix?

This gift was for a woman (i.e. me) who hates anything touching her feet, only has a pedicure under sufferance and will spring up onto the bedroom light fixture if her feet are so much as lightly brushed under the sheets during the night.

Darling Albert never seems to hear my subtle hints or even the less subtle ones, like ‘how about a charm bracelet, then the boys could buy me a charm each year to add to it’. To which he replied ‘Yes, but would they wear one?’

Holy Hell!

Every year, just before Christmas my friend Lisa heads into Myers and chooses a lovely matching bra and undies set, then leaves them at the counter for her husband to pick up.

But I reckon this makes it way too easy (even though I would love some decent underwear). I’ve only just realised that after all these years, I actually like to make Albert sweat his Christmas gift to me. This is the kind of endearing habit that husbands and wives eventually fall into.

So I’ve ‘upped the ante’ and now when Albert asks what I would like –  no more hints, no mercy. I very sweetly say ‘If you have to ask, then you obviously don’t know me at all’.

You know sometimes, I kinda feel sorry for him.

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