But there was a problem. I couldn’t think of any. Well, none that I could make work.
I’d actually spent a good deal of the last year trying to come up with something that would float her boat — I’d even casually included it on my weekly To Do list as “Special Project”, knowing she’d see it and it would create some anticipation and excitement.
But by the week before the big day, I was panicking. I had nothing sorted.
Let me explain.
My first plan had been to put together a book for her. I’d even gone so far as to get some pricing to have it all put together nicely with pictures etc.
It would have involved me scouring the pages of the newspapers I’ve written for over the years where Mrs P has featured in some column (good, bad and funny) and collating them all in one volume.
Easy. Or so I thought.
It turns out that in the decade or so since I started offering up a weekly snapshot of our lives over your cornflakes, Mrs P has featured a lot more than I realised.
The book I figured would be of a physically and financially manageable size suddenly became a major work, with the time required, and therefore costs, ballooning spectacularly.
To put it in simple terms, you could have used what I thought I’d end up with initially to prop up the leg of your table. The second version would have propped up the corner of your house. Got it?
There was also the possibility Mrs P might think me prattling on about her for 758,457 words or even the 7015 words of the first version might make her think I was taking the mickey.
So that book idea was shelved. Boom boom.
By that stage, I had done exactly what I said I wouldn’t do and left it too late to do anything other than arrange for a weekend away somewhere nice where all the kids could gather and we could do a traditional family get-together.
Unfortunately, I chose Hawke’s Bay where Mother Nature had other ideas for that particular weekend so that plan, too, went out the window.
I have to say Mrs P was a good sport about it all and when the big day did arrive I made sure she had a few pressies to open and promised her another day away at a favourite town nearby where we would visit her favourite jeweller.
Anyway, we eventually made it to our favoured location and sat, pre-jewellery shopping, overlooking a beautiful view in the sun and enjoying a picnic.
Now I don’t know why I said what I said next but I did. I have to say I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more uncomfortable a short while later.
Let me explain.
As we are sitting there just enjoying some time together, in the distance, across a lake, I see a helicopter taking off. So I said: “... and here comes your big surprise.”
Now, I was certain I had said it so there could be no doubt I was joking. Unfortunately, Mrs P heard it in a different tone.
“Oh my goodness,” she said. “Is this that Special Project you’ve been working on?”
For a start, she’d never previously let on that she’d seen my Special Project note. What made it worse was that the helicopter now seemed to be getting a lot bigger on the horizon. In fact, it seemed to be heading right towards us.
By now I was struggling to work out what was actually going on and struggling even more to utter the necessary words that I knew would lead to huge disappointment for my beloved.
“Oh you amazing man,” said Mrs P, beaming at me to continue my discomfort. “What have you done? Is this all for me?”
As I wrestled with the dilemma, the bloody helicopter came even closer and landed in a field barely 100m from where we sat.
I let out a strange, pathetic sound that I hoped would both buy me some time and go some way towards an explanation without dashing all her birthday hopes and dreams.
It must have been pretty bad because Mrs P doubled up with laughter.
“The look on your face!” she roared, as the helicopter took off again. “That’s the best birthday present yet.”
