So this is the last post for a wee while, I’m flying to Riga on Tuesday for our Baltic holiday. Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia here we come! And best of all I get to meet and hang out with a DG reader who lives in Tallinn. How cool is that?
Between now and Tuesday I will be catching up with my lovely boy. He came back from his motorcyle jaunt around France yesterday. He’d called me out of the blue on Sunday night, he was in the middle of a vineyard somewhere in Beaujolais and asked did I want to go out for dinner on Friday night? A little Italian place. I was so excited, we don’t do that kind of thing too often. All seemed wildly romantic! So of course I ran around cleaning my room and getting my brows waxed and cleaning the dirt from under my nails and deforesting the legs, all excited.
When he arrived last night I was so happy to see him I went all ridiculously quiet and shy. Then he said he had to call the restaurant coz he forget the Edinburgh Festival is on, normally you can just waltz into this place but the city’s populations is trebled at the moment. So he calls, and they’re booked out.
I am such a brat but I must admit I got pouty. I wanted ROMANCE. And I wanted ITALIAN. This brattiness was a combination of PMS and not seeing him for two weeks and knowing I’d be away another two weeks AND that day being my 17th Month Anniversary in the UK, meaning only 7 more months til I get evicted. I wanted to be Miss Pampered Princess for the night. I was all dressed up and wanted a big night out, DAMMIT.
But instead it was that whole tiresome, "So what do you want to do instead?" "I dunno, what do you want to do?" thing that lasted about half an hour. I was being such a grumpy bastard.
But then he holding two different types of French cookies behind his back (all squashed up from carting them back all that way) and asking me to guess, "Brown wrapper is for is European cuisine, white one is for Asian". He looked so ridiculous I couldn’t help laughing. I picked his left hand. Asian.
"I meant MY left, not yours!" I grumped.
Finally we’re heading up the road for Indian. I am more like, stomping. "You don’t want Indian, do you?" he says.
"I don’t care!"
And of course then I realise I am acting like a PsychoBrat and I am just so relieved he made it back on that bloody bike and that meant more to me than some posh dinner.
We had a terrible seat in the restaurant, right next to the coffee machine with a giant stack of menus threating to topple over us. Our conversation was punctuated by the constant SSSCCCHHHH of frothing milk. But I just didn’t care. The food was great, the room was cosy and I loved how happy The Boy looked as he told me about his trip, and thought how funny it felt so be so happy for someone else, to know that someone elses happiness means so much you.
This has nothing to do with losing weight, just about realising what is important to you. Losing weight is important to me yes. But naan bread and lovely Scotsman rate pretty highly too.
Talk to ya all soon 🙂