Gifts.

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We exchanged small tokens of affection this week, my wife and I, to mark our wedding anniversary. She got more than I got because it’s also her birthday. I received two French detective novels from a series by Jean Luc Bannalec, easy reads, gentle TV whodunnits kind of things, two of which I’ve already read. And there were pistachio chocolates. She had another ornamental cat added to her collection. I don’t care how many ornamental cats she has so long as they don’t poop, shed hair, miaow loudly or need expensive accommodation while we holiday. Or get sick. Or make my flower beds into a feline toilet. She also received two books, Greece being the thing they had in common. And a box of Baklava and bars of olive oil soap and a few other etceteras.