I don't like to turn up to people's houses empty-handed, and, due to visit a friend, I had duly gone out and bought a little something in the shape of a box of Thorntons chocolates.
Now, this sounds a small thing - and indeed it was - but it involved packaging a baby into a buggy, braving a gale-force storm (OK, a bit of wind and drizzle, and actually I took the car) and manoeuvring said buggy round the aisles of a shop. The chocolates were purchased, and it was ticked off of my list of things to do.
Fast forward two hours. I am upstairs with the baby, playing, "Who's that in the mirror? It's you in the mirror! And Mummy in the mirror!" (Literally minutes of fun; if anyone is interested in making a motion picture, I'd be willing to sell the rights.) I don't hear TheBloke (TM) come home from work. That is until he shouts up the stairs, "Daddy's home!"
"Thank fuck," I think. For the baby has just filled her nappy, and this way I can pretend it's on his watch.
We go downstairs. I enter the kitchen. TheBloke (TM) has opened the aforementioned box of chocolates, and is chomping his way through the most delicious ones.
"Nooo!" I say. "They're a present! For a friend!"
"It's not my fault!" TheBloke (TM) said, conviction strong in his voice. "You left me unsupervised. Around chocolates. It's your fault. You should apologise. What did you expect me to do? Not eat the chocolates?"
He graciously accepted my apology.