I know myself I have incurred multiple pulled muscles over the years trying to get my sticky beak into places it shouldn't be for a quick look. That space on top of the wardrobe, the spot right at the back of the closet behind all the shoes . . . you know what I mean.
Mrs P is no different.
I have caught her lingering in the vicinity of my shed around this time some years. This is completely out of character because it is off limits (her choice) for the rest of the year.
I'm guessing she was trying to find where I'd hidden her pressie. Or maybe she was after one of those random size bits of wood we men always keep . . . just in case.
The Christmas tree going up at Whangārei Town Basin earlier this month. Photo / Michael Cunningham
We got talking about such hiding places the other night after I'd come back from Farmers and I'd spirited her little something away to my secret hiding location.
Now let's be up front here. I knew exactly what she was doing when the conversation suddenly started to focus on "hiding places". It would be a great subject for this very column, she suggested helpfully.
Yeah right.
Now I'm not sure she knew I knew what she was doing but I wasn't taking any chances. I would be divulging nothing.
"Well I have always used the hot water cupboard," she said with an air of honesty that suggested I should be equally as forthcoming.
"Its the garden shed for me," I said quickly. "So much easier and you don't have to try and sneak the gift into the house."
I feigned a look that suggested I had said too much and hurriedly tried to cover it up with the true tale of my mate who'd bought his dad a book one year and hidden it under the lid of the barbecue.
You guessed it, Dad had fired up the barbie prior to the gift exchange and well and truly cooked the books.
As if to reinforce her honest admission and perhaps lay down a bit of cover herself, Mrs P then relayed the tale of a friend who had hidden a gift in the hot water cupboard and promptly lost it completely.
By all accounts the item wasn't particularly large but it seems to have been swallowed up by a Christmassy version of the Bermuda Triangle.
We casually threw in a couple of other possible hiding places, basically to make the game interesting.
Under the bed. At the back of the highest shelf. In the dog's kennel. I even recalled my dad buying my mum a huge ring one year and "hiding" it in plain sight on the Christmas tree. It was there for a week and she never saw it. Something to think about perhaps?
Anyway, the conversation ambled to a close and (surprise, surprise) Mrs P realised she needed to go outside and check "something".
The wicked half of me stifled a laugh as I watched her disappear down the garden path towards the shed.
The other half of me did a quick calculation and figured out I'd have maybe two minutes before she was back.
Just enough time to do a thorough search of the hot water cupboard.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to kevin.page@nzme.co.nz .
