I love him indoors - I really do - but there are times when I wish..... Never mind.
He organised a wonderful birthday surprise, and although he admits he can't dance, thought it best to come with me to the Strictly Come Dancing four days at a hotel in Somerset as he didn't trust me with anyone else!? Moi? At my age? Give me a break.
We went off to our respective classes and of course in the evening dressed up to strut our stuff on the dancefloor. Poor love, him indoors has all the grace of a rugby prop forward after a night in the pub - my poor feet - trampled by size elevens - not that much fun really. He got red around the ears, and in the face - lost his temper, got frustrated and flounced off - Well, I say flounced, sixteen stone men don't flounce, they barge, stomp or simply disappear to the bar!
Unfortunately we seem to be the only two that are uncoordinated - the others swept around the floor, sashaying, hands waving, heads bobbing, smiles plastered as their feet twinkled and their pitying gazes glanced over us. It's at times like these that I wish him indoors was Antonio Banderas - at least he knows how to tango. - but then in the real world, I wouldn't swop him indoors for a hundred Antonios - life's too short to have to fight to get to the mirror first.