We do not need two of everything, including tiny dustpan and brush for sweeping crumbs off the table, which you (and certainly I) never do.
Nor do we need fifteen different varieties of coolbag.
That spare car battery you left in the utility room has caught my ankles so many times I would throw it through the window. If only I could lift the damn thing.
I know you need a shed, but must you live in it?
Teaching the three boys to burp God Save the Queen is not going to go down particularly well at Cubs.
Nor is armpit-farting.
Nor normal farting, at will, for that matter. Yes, I know I do it. But not to a chorus of masculine approval at the level of vibration, volume and reverberation.
I would like you occasionally to try a Paul Smith shirt even though you think James May looks like a girl. Dad-wear from Tesco is getting a bit tedious.
And by the way, I have set up an Amazon gift list for a reason. I do not expect you - as I have posted here many times - to come back from Tesco the night before my birthday with another Top Gear DVD.
Thanks
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Dear Husband (or Wife)... Just a quick note to let you know:
LupusinaLlamasuit · 07/06/2009 13:57
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