My husband has never bought me a Christmas present. I’m not asking for diamonds, cashmere, or Manolo Blahniks – some shower gel would be nice, or a china mug to replace my chipped one, or some slinky tights to pep up the same old dress I wear on Christmas Day every year. But I know, to quote my husband’s favorite Bob Dylan track, I’m blowing in the wind to even hope for any of these as gifts.
He has never, during our 30-year marriage (except, I think, possibly the very first year when I got sexy underwear and chocolates), bought me anything for Christmas – nothing wrapped that I can open – and I don’t really understand why.
The reasons he gives sound rational. He says that Christmas is a load of old commercial hokum. He loathes being expected to conform to some ‘made-up’ tradition, and be forced to spend money just for the sake of opening presents on a certain, random day of the year. He’ the same with Easter eggs but, oddly, birthdays, when he’s quite generous.
He says he ‘hates Christmas, full st and would rather go abroad or have a Chinese takeaway. Yet he loves it whall our young adult children come home with their partners, laden with food presents (he’s happy to receive).
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