My husband’s do-goodery every Christmas turns my stomach

For the past four years I have been a Christmas widow. I have my children, aged 17 and 12, to keep me company; but my usually attentive husband is nowhere to be seen. My children and I will eat Christmas lunch – turkey and all the trimmings – without him. We’ll watch the King’s speech wondering when he’ll get back. We’ll play charades with no dad jokes to laugh at.

At around 4pm my husband will come in, all smiles and laughter, re-heat his Christmas dinner and sit with it on a tray on his lap on the sofa. From this position, he’ll regale us with all the selfless things he’s done that day.

For the past four years my husband has volunteered every Christmas in a homeless shelter. He stands behind a counter in a pinny, handing out lunches to those in need. It’s supremely ironic that he finds such fulfilment in this, because he never lifts a finger in our kitchen at home.

I married my husband because I loved his big heart and unquenchable kindness. In fact, it was me who introduced him to this homeless shelter through a friend who also volunteers there. I was proud of him at first but over the years he’s become a boastful virtue-signaller whose do-goodery turns my stomach every Christmas. He goes on and on about it for the rest of the day and most of the Christmas week, telling all our friends and visitors about the people he met. I roll my eyes at girlfriends and relatives, hoping he’ll shut up. To be honest, it all bores me.

Originally, the idea was that his design company would help make signs and leaflets for this charity, but he became more and more chummy with the organisers and slowly started to get more personally involved until we got to where we are now: he a virtue-signalling bore and me a Christmas widow.

The first year, I was bursting with pride that my husband did this. While other husbands and dads sat around or drank, or watched TV, my husband was doing something truly good. I even told everyone at work what he’d done. The admiration was palpable.

Perhaps my mistake was thinking that would be it. Yet, the second year he went back to the shelter. And the third, and the fourth.

This year he has announced he’s planning to volunteer again. I’m already dreading having to plaster on a grin while the kids and I say goodbye to him at 10am as he sets off into the cold, collar turned up, oozing “holier than thou” energy, while we have to open our presents and get started on the festivities without him.

This year it’s got even worse, as he has started asking our children to go with him. The eldest would never be up in time anyway, but I put my foot down about the youngest. He deserves a Christmas he can enjoy and remember, opening his presents – not serving up gravy to people he’s never met before and may very well have a host of problems he is too young to understand and not equipped to deal with.

I’m aware that if I admitted these feelings to anyone, they’d see me as a cruel and heartless Scrooge. I think it’s wonderful that volunteers exist at these charities, willing and able to give up their free time for those less fortunate. I just wish my husband wasn’t one of them.

I long to have a relaxed Christmas lie-in with him, to exchange gifts, and hold his hand as the children open the presents we’ve carefully picked out for them, then watch our favourite Christmas films and perhaps even get a bit of help serving lunch. It’s really not the same toasting your 12-year-old while the 17-year-old stares at their mobile phone.

I may come across as mean; I may come across as selfish. But is it really so wrong to want my husband home, present and there for our one special day of the year as a family?

It’s great that volunteers exist at these charities – I just wish my husband wasn’t one of them