The countdown to the birthday intensifies and with it, the occasioning of many magazines lying open at strategic places being left around the house at strategic points like the husband’s pillow and the husband’s cupboard and the husband’s gym bag. The magazines say, don’t be subtle and hope he can read your mind. He cant, so give him a hint. Have given him umpteen, but am sure he will bring in something bought with a lot of money and love, which will see me at the store the next morning as the shutters go up for an exchange. While I love the husband to pieces, we have serious issues on differing taste. You can just imagine the rapiers drawn when we were decorating the house. Being the weaker sex, and the party with no money and therefore veto power, we are now resigned to living with boudoir red velvet curtains in the bedroom. I rest my case.
He is the man who has bought me ransom amount diamond sets in designs that went out with the Flappers. He is the man who bought me Versace sunglasses in purple cat eye style when the rest of the world (read Elizabeth Hurley and Aishwarya Rai were wearing bug eye Chloe styles). He also gets me epilators and gym memberships. You get my drift. He tries so hard and is so endearing about it, it hurts me terribly to go exchange what he has picked out with so much love and affection. But after many pieces of jewellery that stay unused in the locker have become rather shameless about the entire situation.
Not that I am a jewellery person. At the max I have a pair of diamonds in the ears, one ring and one bracelet. And yes, I forget, the mandatory mangalsutra around the neck, or rather, my version of it. And I am done. And this too, is worn to keep the mother and the MIL off the back. A married woman without jewellery? Blasphemy.
Am not expecting any jewellery this time round, considering the poor man is being harassed by this nagging shrew of a wife to buy a house. But considering he is the only person who actually takes the trouble of getting me something, I hope he gets it right this time. Or actually remembers to get it. He’s been making strange statements lately about how women should stop celebrating their birthdays once they cross 30, rather than let the world onto the fact that they’ve become old. And how birthdays are meant only for kids. Never mind the fact that his birthday is the occasion of much hullabaloo in the entire family, with the occasion being celebrated with a splendour to rival bashes thrown by Elton John. L’Officiel. Page 123. Open and waiting. Greedy greedy me.