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It would seem that the hole wasn’t a great idea.  The dog fell in it and tracked mud through the house.  Still, the look on husband’s face will make up for having to hoover for the umpteenth time today, won’t it?

‘You’re the best’ he said as he came through the door ‘You didn’t have to hire someone to dig the hole, I was going to do it as a surprise for your birthday! You’ve always wanted a pond.’

I haven’t. I have never wanted a pond.  Ever. We have three cats and a white dog that falls in holes. It’s not practical.
‘And who’s Gary Mole? The service was amazing, he even sent me a letter to tell me that the work was going ahead.’

It’s at times like these I wonder ‘is it really worth it?’ I feel like nothing I do is having an effect.  I’m no closer to breaking him now than I was 3 years ago,
yet somehow, he’s about 16.4 miles nearer to breaking to me.   CrapWife is growing disheartened.  And Husband’s a knob.
Somewhere during the course of this process we’ve turned into Wiley Coyote and Road-Runner.  I’m only ever one cheerful text message away from blowing myself up with some Acme dynamite or launching myself off a cliff.

‘Great.’ I say. ‘I found him in the yellow pages.’

‘Well you’ve been saying that we don’t have room for the fish tank- we can put them in the pond now. It’ll be lovely. You ruined the surprise though.’

I am wondering if the hole’s big enough to bury him in.
Husband show’s me the stuff he’s bought for my ‘birthday present’  The filtration system looks expensive, pond liners aren’t cheap and there are enough plants and gravel chippings to colonise the (super) moon.
Not only have I once again failed in breaking him, I’ve probably done myself out of the handbag I actually wanted.
Husband took a half day from work to go and buy this stuff.  He’s been out there for hours and has created a sickeningly attractive water feature.  The fish won’t be in there for another few weeks he tells me, the pond has to mature first.  He’s really excited.  He’s worked so hard.

‘You eyes look red, you need to take your contacts out for a while and give them a rest, you’ve got that meeting first thing and you look like a junkie- got to bed, I’ve got a few bits to finish up here, I won’t be long’

Poor husband has terrible mole-like eye sight and I worry about his eyes.  He usually sleeps in his contact lenses and on the rare occasions he takes them out, I have to help him in the morning as he can’t see to switch the kettle on, let alone get himself dressed.  This is why hiding his contact lenses may have been a tad cruel.
It is for this reason that he probably won’t notice that I’ve shortened the arms and legs on his suit by an inch.  I figure if I also set his alarm for thirty minutes later than usual, he’ll probably not notice the Gay Porn magazines in his briefcase either.
In a rare attack of conscience, I decide to leave his emergency glasses available.  I can’t remember where I’ve put them though, and I probably won’t remember until about 3 minutes before he’s leaving the house.  I’ve painted the frames of his emergency glasses with opaque pink nail-varnish- to show my gratitude for all his hard work.  As a final thank you (and acting on the innovative suggestion of one of the Crap Wife facebook followers) I draw large cocks on all the bank notes in his wallet.  Oh to be a fly on the wall at tomorrow’s breakfast meeting.
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