I made an unscheduled visit to the house today to remedy a small issue with the tiles we had chosen for our en-suite. Back in November 2006 we had chosen two different tiles – one for the shower cubicle and another for the remainder of the bathroom – but just as they we about to be ordered it came to light that they were not of matching sizes. I donned my superhero outfit and sped down the motorway to select some new tiles, of matching sizes, while my wife waited patiently at home to criticise my decision.

“I trust your choice,” were the words my wife left me with, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. This was about to be the single most important day of our entire relationship, and the pressure was on. After arriving at the sales centre I took a deep breath and began looking through the tiles. Mobile phone picture messages were sent home, but I received very little commitment in return (”Whatever you think, I’m sure they’ll be fine…”). The wall tiles were an easy choice, but the shower cubicle was a different matter. When I narrowed the selection down to two choices and sent a picture message of them back to my wife, there still wasn’t much in the way of feedback.

My brow was sweating, my heart was pounding, and my marriage was on the line. I made the decision purely on impulse and then drove home as quickly as I could, armed with better quality photos on my digital camera. On my return we went through the photographs and I nervously told her which one I had selected. Her reaction? “I’m so glad you didn’t pick the other one – it was absolutely disgusting.” Crisis averted. Marriage saved. Tiles ordered.