It might have been my cousin who was upset, in which case it would have been my mum telling me about my cousin to teach me a vital lesson about being grateful for what we receive. That's how one uncle escaped seeing my tears of disappointment as he presented me with a game of Subbuteo for Christmas while every other member of my large extended family knew just how much I hated football. I invited my younger cousin John to join me on the other room to play it, then took forever to set it up so that I was saved from having to show that I didn't have a clue how the game worked when Aunty Betty told me to put it away because they were about to dish out the Christmas dinner.
(I've just had to look up how to spell 'Subbuteo' and was surprised that I'd got it right first time. Actually, 'surprised' is putting too much emphasis on it.)
It's possibly because David Tennant sported a lovely pair in last year's Doctor Who Christmas special, but this year I was dropping hints in various directions that pyjamas would be a good choice for me this Christmas. But Christmas Day came and went, and the ungrateful child who'd turned his nose up at World Cup Subbuteo was treated to a metaphorical lump of coal.
Last night, my trustworthy flatmate and loyalest friend returned from a shopping trip. He'd bought himself a pair of slippers in an 'after-the-horse-has-bolted reaction to stubbing his toe the day before. He'd also bought something for me.
They're navy-blue with light-blue-and-red dots. They're made of cotton. They have button flies so your knob doesn't flop out. They're the most perfect present ever, and I'm one very happy 35-year-old manchild.
See, Uncle Lenny? The big, flashy box isn't always appropriate. Sometimes, pyjamas are exactly what you need.
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