Is it OK that my husband and I will never pass the grown-up test?

Myself and my husband celebrated our sixteenth wedding anniversary earlier this month.

And subsequently found ourselves wandering nervously through the halls of a five star hotel and spa which my husband booked on a whim before remembering that, as a couple, we simply can’t handle this amount of fancy.

The pressure gets to us, if I’m honest.

We both feel the need to meet the romantic atmosphere created by the establishment, and my God, do we fail miserably.

We realised this about nine or ten years ago when we decided we were better suited to a night in a small B&B if we wanted to treat ourselves, but given the occasion, my husband obviously decided to give the whole shebang another ago and really pushed the boat out.

I should have known we’d be out of our depth when we were greeted by staff who provided us with smoothie shots as we filled out our details.

Looking like a pair of hicks on a day out, we awkwardly slurped out of the minute glasses and tried desperately to remember our car registration number for the hotel files before getting into a whispered argument about the last digit.

From the crisp white sheets of the bed to the Jacuzzi bath big enough for two, our room, which was unveiled to us by a dapper gentleman in his late fifties, just screamed heartwrenching romance and endless sex.

And I could safely say we’d be unlikely to deliver on either front.

Mine and my husband’s idea of romance is stifling gas between the sheets and our idea of an active sex life is a frenzied quickie on a Saturday afternoon when the four kids have playdates, tennis practice or any other reason to be out of the house.

And honestly, I don’t feel like it falls short until I arrive at a place like this and realise we don’t know how to be fairytale romantic with each other- something which I’m pretty sure was a stipulation in the hotel’s rule book.

“This is too much,” I told him miserably. “We don’t know how to act in these situations.”

Seeing his face fall made my heart drop and I quickly rallied by suggesting we “robe-up”. (I know, the stress got to me and I thought I knew the lingo.)

Watching a man who sleeps in a band T-shirt from the 1990s prance around the room in a white waffle robe made me smile.

Watching a man, who refuses to pronounce Prosecco properly in case he sounds “wimpy”, dramatically uncork a bottle of champagne and bring it to me in the bath made my heart soar.

And watching a man, who I knew felt more than a little out of his depth, take a deep breath and my hand before walking into the hotel’s main restaurant reminded me why we made such a good team.

So what if we still don’t feel like grown-ups when it comes to situations like this?

As long as we feel nervous and ridiculous together, I’m good with it.