bless our cotton socks
Two years ago today, Paul made an honest woman of me...as I waddled down the aisle four months pregnant. To celebrate our anniversary, we spent the night at the Old Bridge hotel, where we got married. We dropped Jack off with friends (the husband is a policeman/inspector, but we did warn him about Jack's cries in case they have concerned neighbours) and went off on our merry way.
A huge, inviting, dog hair-free bed greeted us when we arrived at our room:
and I ran around in little circles, squealing like a child on Pixie Stix when I saw the enormous bathroom:
We tarted ourselves up, and went down to the terrace for dinner. Oh my, but it was delicious. Our waitress has been working there for a while and remembered us from our various visits, and after we told her it was our anniversary, our desserts were presented with an extra decoration:
We ate and ate and ate, and drank and didn't have to worry about keeping a clear head because our little boy was safe and sound with our friends, and stumbled back up to our room. Big feathery pillows sank blissfully under the weight of my tired head. I woke up feeling relaxed and happy, and we lounged around in bed and ate our perfect breakfast:
I had a long bubble bath afterwards, and read the paper slowly. Heavenly, unadulterated luxury for any parent.
Happy anniversary, Paul. Let's try this anniversary lark again next year.
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