Wife number 2?

Now it was recently Mrs Ed's birthday, and being a creature of habit, I forgot until the last moment. No, not the last moment like 'the day before', or 'the night before' or even 'the hour before'. I mean the REAL last LAST moment. The split second when the memory hits your face like a soggy frog, just as you open your eyes for the first time that day. “OH MY GOSH! IT'S HER BIRTHDAY!” Of course being the coward that I am, my usual modus operandi is a mad, scrambling effort to leave the house through a window, or by removing a few roof tiles, and rushing to the nearest shops (NB the ones attached to petrol stations are open 24hrs) and back, so that I can nonchalantly wander into the kitchen before she even knows I'm gone, with a very attractive five litre can of multigrade oil, a new set of wiper blades and a PS bar chocolate bar - you know the ones with a message on the wrapper (if one is lucky one can find one with a 'Happy Birthday', or an 'I Love You', but sometimes one gets stuck with more vague birthday greetings, such as 'Missing You', or 'Good Luck for Your Exams' which need a lot more creative explanation.) But this year I was not blessed with so much time. The fact that Mrs Ed was standing over me, with her not-very-happy-birthday face glaring down, inches from mine, made me realise my options were even more limited than usual. I had to think fast. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” I squawked, “Um…. Did it arrive?” “What?” she parried, leaving me a beautiful, snivelling gap. “I can't tell you 'what' because (I haven't thought of it yet) then it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?” Ooooh I am getting so good at this! Evidently not quite good enough. I could see by the fierce look in her good eye and the Charles Bronson twitch of her moustache that further explanation was required. I had to dig deep, and quickly too. “I've ordered you something over the internet, and it was supposed to arrive first thing,” was what I blurted out. Pausing for reflection, I solefully added “I can't believe that courier company. Tsk tsk.” The last bit of the sentence was, of course, the 'break eye contact phrase' which history has taught me is exceptionally useful in matters of self defense. A lot like the lesser wolf drops his gaze from that of the Matriarch so as to avoid getting his throat torn open. And so, apart from the ten minutes dedicated to angry shouting about poor service to the poor non-existent manager of the non existant courier company who wasn't really on the other end of the line, I spent a good portion of the day secretly perusing the internet, trying to find something that was a) cheap, b) not available locally and c) a practical birthday gift for Mrs Ed. I was just about to log off the www.discountgardentrowels.com website, when I spotted something out the corner of my eye. It was one of those internet ads that jump around and annoy people, but the wording got my attention. Online order - satisfaction guaranteed! Hmmmmm. In desperation I clicked on it. At first my heart sank:- at face value the website - www.russian brides.com - didn't look like it would solve my immediate problem at all…. But then I started thinking out of the box…. Maybe it would! In fact, maybe it would kill two birds with one stone! Just because I'm such a sensible person, I quickly read the 'Genuine comments from genuine customers' section. Keith Maniac from Piddle-on-Tyme, Gloucester had this to say: “Make no mistake, these Russian brides are here to meet a man like you. My new wife was desperate for just a little of the security, love and affection that Western women take for granted, and she found that in me. There's no doubt that the right Russian bride for you will treat you like the king of your own home.” Just above this was a big button that said 'Click here to meet a selection of Russian Brides, waiting to hear from you' I hesitated. One should really not judge a book by its cover, thus I had to steel myself so that the pictures I was about to see (no doubt of poor, hard weathered, be-muscled and sullen Russian housewives, desperate to improve their lot in life) wouldn't affect my purchase decision. Click. My giddy aunt! If these were the 'unhappy, down trodden, desperate for marriage, Moscow maidens', then something must be seriously wrong with the eyesight of the Russian male population. Either that or the happy women in that country must be absolutely exquisite! Of course I had to think practically, but it all started to make good sense. Mrs Ed was always saying she was tired of housework, and could really do with some help with all the cooking and cleaning (apparently lifting my feet as she vacuums underneath them is not considered real help), and here was poor 'Alyona' a rather busty blonde lady of 25, who the Russian Bride agency claimed was 'A queen of Russian cuisine' and 'Can't wait to make her new western home as spotless as the Tsar's palace'! What better help could Mrs Ed ask for? One presumes the Eastern woman is reasonably tough, judging by the photograph - no weakling would be brave enough to wear a bikini like that in the freezing Russian temperatures, would they? The logistics were a bit tricky. Obviously I wanted to keep the gift a surprise for Mrs Ed, so I had to forge her signature on the consent form for me to take on (by traditional law of course) a second wife (understandably the Russian ladies want to know they are being taken seriously before leaving their simple village lives for greener pastures). Fortunately the website had the paperwork which I could print, sign, scan and send back, along with details of our (Mrs Ed's) credit card for what they call sundry agency fees (no more than $15 according to the Russian BridesFAQ section). It's so exciting! According to a personalised email from Russian Bride CEO (what good service!) Don Duckerman, my new fiance will be arriving soon for a trial visit, just to check whether I am happy with her work before officially 'tying the knot'. And I know he's not lying because this morning I got an email from Alyona herself. She says she can't wait to meet me, and was happy to spend all her savings on her air fare, but if I could just transfer some money (she suggested about four hundred US dollars) into her parents' account so they and her little brothers won't starve whilst she is visiting me (thoughtful girl), she will be on her way! I can't wait to see Mrs Ed's face when her new 'kitchen sister' arrives! Once she gets used to her youthful looks and husky foreign accent, I'm sure she'll like her,