Red Letter Day – or How I Won for the First Time Ever

Yesterday was a red-letter day.

I just Googled that to find out why it was thus called:

"We wryte yet in oure kalenders the hyghe festes wyth rede lettres of coloure of purpre."

Which is a tad confusing. So perhaps it was a purple letter day. But a day of festival and celebration none the less. And June 3 will be forever thus write in the scriptures and kalenders of Aardarkism (which I have yet to write), (but at least there is now a hyghe feste)

And why such cause for celebration and hyghe feste? I won my first ever argument with the Beloved. This is what happened:

We were awarded M&S vouchers for the great good deed of renewing our car insurance. £25 each. A haul if there ever was one in these days of financial pecuniary and lack of decent attire with which to attire ourselves.

Beloved: ‘I’m off to M&S to spend this voucher which is burning a hole in my holey pocket.’ He was attired in a spectacularly holey pair of jeans.

Me: ‘They don’t have anything nice in M&S for men.’ The subtext here being fairly obvious to one as used to reading between lines as the Beloved.

Beloved: ‘I need new jeans.’ Indicating the aforementioned garment, or rather the large expanse of hairy leg that was revealed by the aforementioned garment.

Me: ‘You waste your time and voucher buying jeans from M&S. They have nice skirts though, but they cost more than £25.’ Subtext galore.

Beloved: ‘I need new jeans.’

Me: ‘Try ASDA’

Beloved: ‘Ok then, let’s spend all the M&S vouchers on something for you.’

Essentially, then, the bottom dropped out of my world. I felt very like one of those cartoon characters who has just run off the side of a cliff only to look down and discover that there is no longer anything of a substantial nature under their feet/paws/whatever passes for their lower limbs.

This had never happened to me before. I barely understood the phrase ‘Ok then,’ when arriving out of the lips of the Beloved. I searched his countenance for the usual signs of sarcasm. I poked him to ensure that he was actually real. I asked him a few tricky questions to ensure he hadn’t been replaced by an alien.

So, we went to the great emporium and bought an expensive and particularly gorgeous skirt. Which I will now wear on all hyghe festes that come my way.

I think he is probably ill. But I don’t like to mention it. Because he might agree. And that would be proof of serious illness, if not something fatal.

I am still in shock.