You’ve survived another long and tiresome year as spouse of an ardent fly fisherman, and while a great many promises were made, most were followed by profuse apologies and much hand wringing, and none were kept …

… and now rather than raking leaves like you asked, he’s expecting you to wait table as his fishing pals help themselves to all the good liquor and your baked goods, while putting their big feet up on your upholstery.

Not cracking the whip last Spring was cause for the suffering you endured last year, and rather than begin anew it’s time the big lout gets his fillings rattled a few times – delivered in that special way that mocks both him and his craft.

At left is a Whiting Saddle Hackle – these are special bird skins raised for fishing that your husband purchased for tying his flies. He owns many more that he’s hidden from you, mostly so you would not connect them to the large credit card bill he always lectures you about.

Gather up anything with a Whiting label and tuck them away in a shopping bag.

Go treat yourself to a new hairdo from somewhere that sounds French, really expensive. or both. While the nice lady is making suggestions about cut you need, show her the contents of your shopping bag and ask could she put two or three dozen of the longest feathers into your hair as hair extensions. Offer to sell the rest to her for a manicure and pedicure.

At right is one of those silly “trout skin” iPhone covers your husband insists he really wants for Christmas.

They’re much too expensive, but the size makes a great stocking stuffer, and while he won’t admit it to anyone, the both of you know its more trout than he catches in a year.

No doubt he wants it to look masculine while ordering his, “ iced, half-caf, whipped Mocha Latte, with the chocolate swirly” – but this once you may consider honoring his wishes – by soaking the case in vegetable oil for a couple weeks …

Akin to tucking away a football, he’ll quickly learn not to answer his phone in “Hero” mode, one-handed – given his streamside inability to juggle slippery trout for the camera – and an expensive greased 4s over pavement.

Then there’s the “once in a lifetime” trip that he wants to do more than once.

Last year it was the Seychelles, you suffered mosquitoes and the unwanted attentions of all those unemployed guides lounging around the verandah.

He returned sunburnt and a hero each evening – then drank too much with all his new-found pals and had to be poured into the sack for tomorrow’s early start.

“Togetherness” was what he promised, which you endured while holding his head out of the toilet.

This time hand him a French-English dictionary and when he looks puzzled, remark that once he’s conversational he can think about Martinique, St. Barthelemy, or one of many French colonies for Bonefish, Tarpon, or Tigerfish – and omit details of the bed and breakfast you’re booking in the upper Champagne district.

An angler suddenly faced with the reality that your not changing planes in Paris – rather you’ve booked weeks of endlessly romantic wineries, old churches, and antique stores to visit, will be brought to heel in a manner most befitting.

As the rods fall from his nerveless fingers and he begins to curl into a fetal ball on the tarmac, remind him that you’re tired of reminding him about the lawn each weekend, and if he asks nicely … then maybe …