Now before you all send your congratulations, I have to let you know that I don't know if we're going to make it to Saturday.
You see, Iven committed a marital sin the other day. And I don't know if I'm prepared to forgive him. Not without him showing precisely the right amount of penitence for his ignorant male comment. Which at least would involve the giving of a small token - chocolates, flowers, expensive jewellery.
The sin was perpetrated last Thursday afternoon at precisely 4:52pm. I know, I know - you're all astounded with my steel-trap-like memory but I really have to admit that I know the time because it was just before I stepped out the door for a run and the time was recorded by my Garmin.
I was actually meant to run in the morning but the lazy voice in my head was louder than the diligent one so I turned the alarm off. But, being that the day was coolish for summer, I decided to make it up in the afternoon. But even though it was cooler I still had a bit of a sweat glow from the day so when I went to change into my running gear a small struggle ensued.
The sort of struggle I'm talking about will be familiar to some females out there. Females who like to keep their 'assets' up where God intended them to be. Females who want to defy gravity and the sands of time. Females who prefer not to be slapped around the face with every step they take. In short - females who wear a good, firm, supportive bra.
Most males out there will be unaware of just how challenging these things can be to put on. Especially if the wearer is sporting a summer sweat glow. Or is trying to put it on in the dark when she is on her way to a stupidly early session. I'd managed to put my head and arms into the appropriate holes and wrestle it into place but not without working up a bigger sweat.
Then I had to pull on a running singlet over the top - a fairly form-fitting singlet which had its own in-built bar shelf. There was more wrestling, a lot of swearing and a bit of claustrophobic panicking before I managed to wrangle myself into it.
I was ready. And nothing - not gale nor cyclone nor 7.5 magnitude earthquake was going to shake my tree. The girls weren't going anywhere that I wasn't going.
I went through the lounge room to say good-bye to Iven and that's when he said it.
"Hon, you're a bit uneven." Looking directly at my chest.
Do I ever go up to him and say "You're hanging a little too far to the right?"
Despite my indignation, I did what was expected and readjusted to his Highness's satisfaction - no mean feat. And you know, they just didn't seem to sit right for the rest of the run. So maybe I'm meant to be a bit lopsided.
The only saving grace for my darling husband is that after almost 28 years he still bothers to look at my chest. I guess I forgive him after all.