Or in my case, the tiara.
Shana does a bit of crochet now and again, and when she’s trying a new knot (or whatever you call the strange mechanism crochetists use to stop their stuff from falling to bits) she will make up a small sample.
She will then present this sample to me. Technically, I may not be much of an expert, but I do my best. Several times I remarked ‘It’s nice–but it’s not the tiara I asked for, is it?’
Shana has now been and gone and done me my very own tiara. Big (to match my head size, naturally). And pink; because I might once have made a joke-sarky comment about one of Michael Portillo’s pink shirts when he was on that interminable British Railway journey that BBC Four has on permanent repeat loop (or so it seems).
From now on, my mission will be to avoid being photographed wearing the tiara. I shall have to hold a copy of the Daily Mirror in front of me and dash about the house in a half-stoop like a celebrity trying to outrun the paparazzi.
Me and my big gob, eh? 🙂