Clutching a cheap supermarket "Spring Bouquet" – there might have been a tulip or two in there somewhere – he looked forward to dinner, followed by two hours of football on television.
He marched into the kitchen bearing the flowers. "I'm home, dear! Happy anniversary, Filly! What's for dinner?"
Felicity said nothing, then roared, suddenly hurling a hunk of raw meat at him.
"Cold shoulder, rat-features! You forgot again!"
"But it's Friday the 3rd..."
"Today's the fourth. Our anniversary was yesterday, Thursday the 3rd! Spare bedroom for you tonight – again!"