Nine Days

We were busy bees yesterday, we carved two more rows into the side of the hill and made a larger level space for a small seating area. That we took care of in the morning, in the afternoon there was company and, by the time we sat down, we could tell that we had worked that day. Unfortunately, for all that outdoor fun and sun, I didn’t even get a tan-line. It must be the Peruvian blood in me; everyone else reported having gotten sun.

Today will probably be easier – I will likely try to arm-twist the Fiancé into walking with me over to see the St. George’s Day party happening on Pound Lane. It amuses me, I’ve been told by a couple of individuals that, generally speaking, “we aren’t allowed to celebrate being British,” so I am interested in just how a celebration of the patron saint of England will go, if this is true.

A part of me, keeping in tune with the “we aren’t allowed to celebrate England” theme, wants to fly an obnoxiously large Union Jack just to see how long it takes for someone to tell me to take it down. You know, for science (Nerds, you can just picture that last bit said in the voice of GlaDOS).

With only nine days left before the big day, we’re trying to kill time as best as we can so that we can coast into the 30th without having to fixate on it too much. With everything already taken care of, we’re probably one of the few couples that will be getting married basically stress-free. An amazing thing in the realm of weddings and brides.

Monday, we need to pick up my Fiancé’s suit trousers (they needed to be refitted), and Friday we need to pick up the cake at 4PM. Small things, really, and there will be plenty of time to do so.


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