I am a piece of shit… and not the emoji smiling shit but a real stinker. I broke my promise to you. I said I was going to write more and I failed, instead I have been a lump just working, writing, and eating. But I have been working out and it’s so true with what Elle Woods said, “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands, they just don’t.” I am a lot happier however, I do want to kill my boyfriend in regards to buying an apartment. I feel like I will be the next story of “Making A Murderer” because he’s driving me crazy, but that’s for another post.
This post is about my time in England with my Brit and welcoming him home and meeting his family. Let’s start from the beginning… We took a short flight from Cork to London, which is what I love about Europe, you can travel pretty much anywhere by a short plane ride or train. Imagine, plane hopping from one beautiful country to the next.
It was late at night and we took a taxi from Heathrow to my Brit’s brother’s house outside of London. Because I was on vacation I decided to eat the famous sandwich from Marks and Spencer that my boyfriend has been bragging about. And, my sandwich was delicious, brie cheese with grape… a fatty’s delight.
So I was shoving the sandwich in my mouth to calm my nerves. I meant my Brit’s brother when he visited NYC (which by the way, he’s hot, sorry babe) but now I was meeting the brother’s wife and kids and then eventually my Brit’s parents. Plus, we were staying at the brother’s house. Now, I can’t very uncomfortable staying at other people’s homes, to use the bathroom, get a drink of water, sleeping, etc. It’s odd but that’s me. I mean, does anybody get comfortable shitting in a stranger’s home?
The brother lives outside of London, kind of comparable to Westchester to Manhattan. He lives in an exclusive cottage community, about twelve cottages and everyone who lives there are family friendly and all are close. Like Pleasantville. There is even a farm in the back with horses and goats.
We arrive late at night and the brother and sister in-law are waiting up for us. I honestly thought the sister in-law was going to be a biotch but she seriously was the nicest person. Made me feel welcomed. And, the brother I already knew was kind too.
We ended up sharing a room, which everyone was cool about. Now, my mother would not be cool about this unless I had a ring on my finger. The cottage is smaller than I would imagine (they paid about a cool one million for it (US dollars I’m talking here, I’m not that British smart)). Anyway, our guest room was tiny but tightly fitted a queen bed and a large drawer, no TV and barely room for my large two luggage.
I was still nervous that I made my Brit come to the bathroom with me to brush my teeth and wash my face. Thankfully, all the excitement tired me out and as soon as my head hit the pillow I passed out.
My Brit warned me about his niece and nephew, about how they have strong personalities, how they might pick on me for my accent and eating habits, and also how they will just storm in our room, jump on our bed, and wake us up… which is the real torture.
The bedroom doors did not have locks so while getting dressed or sleeping anyone could just walk in. So, they were kind enough not to wake us up while jumping on our chests the first morning. We walked down for breakfast in my family friendly pjs and met the rugrats.
They hugged me and wrote cute letters how they wished they were able to stay up to have welcomed us the night before. After breakfast with a million questions and yummy toast, the little boy asked me the most lovable thing any child has asked me, “Are you part of the family?” My boyfriend’s face turned red and I knew I won the family over in just a few short minutes. Bitch, where is my engagement ring?
Btw, news worthy info! In some lucky homes in England, they have this amazing contraption called an Aga http://www.agamarvel.com/aga/
You can get one delivered anywhere and I want one. It will cost you about $14,000 but I think it’s worth it. It stays hot forever, it heats the room up perfectly, and the food comes out better, especially toast.
Anyway, that day it turns out to be the American holiday 4th of July, and my Brit’s brother tried to get me an American flag but surprisingly they were sold out so instead he got me a balloon. How kind! There was also a party in the cottage community, a child’s birthday party and we were kindly welcomed. Everyone wished me a Happy Independence Day and wanted to hear all about the American. Instead of feeling like a poor zoo animal, I felt special. I made the kids’ friends and had a blast with cake and Pimm’s. It was the perfect warm Saturday afternoon. http://www.anyoneforpimms.com/
That night, we had an adult dinner and cocktails. The kids were being watched by the 2nd part of the party, a camp out in the farm. We only had 30 minutes to get dressed. That’s like 5 minutes my time. I rushed, reapplied my makeup and threw anything on that didn’t make me look like a hog. I wore a mini sequin skirt, tank that showed the girls off, and a cobalt blue blazer (one of my favorite pieces of clothes I own). The sister in-law looked more formal with a dark blue dress that covered everything and low heels. I looked like the hoe American. But damn, it’s Saturday night and we were going out on the town. We had drinks at one hot spot and discussed children, since one couple has children and I’m sure they didn’t want to hear about the freedom of not having children. Then, we went to dinner at a very fancy restaurant, I mean white gloves and rehearsed serving skills. We had bottles of wine and ate small plates of delicious over-priced food.
And after a night of drinking, we couldn’t even get freaky because the house was small and we were being respectful. And, we were being so respectful that we didn’t have sex for the entire week in England. It was torture because sometimes a girl needs a pounding.
So, my posts about England will be sexless. Sorry, but it’s more painful for me than for you.
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