Why every woman needs a Secret Admirer
One of my kids was telling someone about my secret admirer the other day, shaking her head in despair. "She's done it for years, buys herself a present that she wants, wraps it up, labels it 'Fondest Love from Your Secret Admirer, kiss, kiss, kiss' and then puts on this big 'surprised' act when we find it under the tree. Oooh, she says, I wonder what he's got me this year. Oooh, how exciting. Oooh, let's have a look. Well, fancy that, she says. I've been wanting one of these for ages. He's so reliable! She's been doing this for years, and it drives us all MAD."
I started the Secret Admirer present routine back in the days when Husband wasn't so good at the gift thing. The first year we were married he bought me an ironing board cover. The next it was a lantern that I could use in the shed when I put the washing on at night. The following year was better: a food mixer, but the theme was becoming familiar. So I had no option. If I wanted some nice soap, or a book I'd seen reviewed, I was going to have to do it myself. He's a transformed man now (the weekly beatings around the head with rolled-up copies of women's magazines helped) and this year I got perfume, chocolates and books. But the Secret Admirer faithfully returns each year.
This year my SA bought me some chocolate-flavoured shower gel and, boy, did he get that just right. It's calorie-free decadence, standing under the shower, lathered in chocolate foam, breathing it in in great gulps of air like an addict. I even washed my hair in it yesterday, massaging it firmly into my scalp in the hope that feeding my brain with chocolate would fool it into thinking there'd be no need to eat half a box of Belgian chocolates after lunch. (This didn't work, but, hey.)
The kids are telling me that it's about time I gave up this silly Secret Admirer thing.
While he's making me feel this good? No way.