It was a whole month before I then met her friends back home who mercilessly showed me mercy, only mercilessly questioning her when I'd disappear for a smoke. Her family was friendly and generous. A month later I asked her to marry me. Not long after that we found out we was gonna be parents.
We went back to her family for whom I cooked Christmas dinner. We shopped like crazy, giddy that both the euro had reached parity with the pound and that half the stores in Ingerland were in receivership and selling off everything at 1-10% of the normal price (and Next were having sales, too).
I watched her walk up in her satin fast food gown and colours to collect her PhD from a rather prestigious university and exactly two weeks later walk into Speke Hall in a magic dress to marry me. Days later I finally set foot in that third world country known as "IddaLEE" where we did manage to find some decent food.
It would be another two months before I cooked a superawesome Porterhouse steak with sauce Bearnaise for RIG's 30th birthday dinner (accompanies by pommes mousseline and garlicky butter-drenched broccoli). Despite the gourmet dinner the beast within sent me running for a McSuperThisWeeksSpecialWeirdBurger, fries, shake, Coke and choco-sundae a few hours later. Extra mayo, please. Exactly six weeks ago (minus about four and a half hours) our daughter was evicted from her previous residence and placed into our arms. Last night many people at the bar met MildlyNaughtyPuppy. The most important person who showed up was BG (with brand new boyfriend in tow). She met RIG, saw MNP, and is terribly happy for us. "You did well." High praise of RIG and MNP indeed.
I got home from working my very last shift at this bistro (though the owner doesn't know yet). RIG had a meeting today despite being on maternity leave. I spent another night awake with the child, then brought her over a few hours ago so that her colleagues could ooh and aah over our little bundle of
poops joy. They were going to the Hofbräukeller restaurant & beergarden (not the same as the tourist one) and while I was invited, RIG looked at me and said, "Go home". Not "warmed over" I apparently look like death bitch-slapped, beaten and chilled for a week.
In a few hours they'll be home. And all I can think again is, "Now what?" but with this time a shit-eating grin so wide you could probably pull my hair and lift my skull right off the rest of my body.
What a difference a year makes.
|< In A Little Over 15 Hours... | Is It Me Or You Who Smells? >|