KEY POINTS:
It's A grim day when you both wake up at 5am for no other reason than you've had enough sleep. Just like your Nana used to. When you potter around in your slippers and bulky hand-knit because it's cold and you don't have to leave the house today
so why not keep comfy and warm. Just like Nana.
When your days are spent talking not so much to each other but through the pets. Just like Nana.
"Tell Mummy how gorgeous you look when you lie on your back like that Kitty!" Just like Nana.
When the weather commentary is a constant presence in your lives, requiring updates every half hour. "Oh, here comes the rain again; that sun didn't last long, did it? Better get the washing in." Just like Nana.
"If you talk to that cat one more time I'm giving her away," was all I could think to say on the long, grey afternoon during which I realised our lives had become appallingly dull.
"But she's so cute and she just loves a chat," he retaliated.
"I'm warning you. No more talking to or about the animals. No more looking out the window and giving a running commentary on the weather. No more discussions about what we'll have for dinner at 8 in the morning, and never call me 'old girl' again."
With that I stropped out of the house and engaged in a very long lunch with a group of people who have no pets, don't notice the weather and eat little.
Normally the state of contentment is a fine way to be. Pottering around the house with each other, rarely disagreeing and mostly enjoying the same things is something to be worked hard for. Ask most newlyweds and that is the domestic picture they have in mind. Thousands of dollars are spent every year on the pursuit of contentment. Hundreds of spiritual guides are bought from the self-help sections of book shops.
But combine contentment with a long winter of discontented weather and you have two boring old farts who would rather spend a quiet night in front of the telly than venture into the cold for social activities.
"If we stay home and watch television again I'm going to pick my eyeballs out of my sockets just to relieve the boredom," I announced one Friday when I realised my husband had a night's entertainment lined up with the MGM channel.
Suddenly I longed for a good fight. A real humdinger where plates are thrown, insults are hurled and the make-up sex is memorable. Or maybe a good sulk, with all the tension that brings to a household for a few days as people tip-toe around each other waiting for the storm to break. Or perhaps even a crisis of some sort, involving drunken bad behaviour.
But alas, Nana land is bereft of such stimulation. And that's just the way the rest of the household likes it.
"What's wrong with not going out, Mum?" inquired the 10-year-old. "I like it when you're home and Dad's taped Seven Brides for Seven Brothers."
And my husband? Well, this is the life he dreamed of when he met me 13 years ago. When an average day encompassed plate-throwing, sulking and bad behaviour - all before midday.
"He's turned me into a Stepford Wife," I moaned to my friend on the phone.
Which is when she took the time to point out that it was I who spent most days in the garden - just like Nana. Who loved nothing better than a good night in with Coronation Street - just like Nana. Who found the thought of getting to bed any later than 10pm an irritation - just like Nana.
"What you need is a good holiday in the sun," she reassured.
And so we did. We took off to the Mediterranean on a whim, leaving children, pets, the miserable weather and TV behind to celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary.
"Time for a shipboard romance," enthused my husband, talking in his sleep shortly before he woke at 5am. "Just the ticket!"
Nana would have loved it.