“Booked something,” I squeak, “what have you booked?”

IT IS the morning of our 27th wedding anniversary. We’re exchanging gifts upstairs, in last-minute fashion before my husband leaves for work.

After receiving his, he says, “and now for yours. Close your eyes.” He hands me my gift as I’m yanking on my jeans.

Under cover of buttoning up my trousers, I’m able to muster my happy gift-recipient face unseen.