Now, usually he just carries on around the corner to the post box…but noooo, he parks his car at the front door and starts waving a parcel at me.
What the hell? So, I sort of reverse back out of the kitchen, whilst waving back with a manic smile on my face, looking a bit like Basil Fawlty on a bad day.
I run upstairs at a rate of knots, try desperately to find some other jeans to put on, while he’s ringing the door bell wondering why on earth I’m ignoring him.
Eventually I grab some, run downstairs, panting, and open the front door. I’ve never seen him smile quite so much in all my life. Oops!