England Part 2

I love London. One, they speak English, and proper sexy English. Two, the guys are good-looking and the women really aren’t, so the competition is non-existent.  Three, it reminds me of Manhattan. And four, pretty much every book or movie I like is placed in London so it will forever have my heart. If I was to live anywhere else than Manhattan then it would be London.

I went to London with my mom years ago and did the normal tourist attractions. I had fun and was happy to be there with my mum (as the British would say) but a vacation with a parent is not the same as going with a lover. With a significant lover, every attraction looks different, every meal has a magically feeling, and every day has a sense of romance.

Going back the second time with my Brit didn’t seem like I was a tourist, but just returning home with my man. It was during Wimbledon and we just had lunches at pubs (doesn’t that sound a lot better than a bar), drank and cheered with the locals. We had dinner one night with my Brit’s friend and I felt like I was welcomed.  We walked around the city, and I listened to stories of my Brit’s past.  That trip, I felt closer to my man than I ever had.

We didn’t need to go sightseeing because I already saw everything with my mom and he’s from there so it was not needed. Instead, he took me to the local hangouts and I saw London from a different point of view.

If we didn’t have dinner out, my Brit’s sister in-law cooked delicious meals for us. Practically every night I read to my Brit’s nephew while he read to his niece before bed.

It wasn’t really a vacation, even though I didn’t have to work and ate a lot (as usual) but it did remind me of boot camp. I had to be on my best behavior because I knew I was being judged, by his family and friends… and maybe even him, to see how well I did with his home away from home. We woke up early and went to bed late. The kids still had school so before they left at around seven in the morning, they would storm in our room (because it was a no locked rooms home) and jumped on the bed, the very tiny bed which meant they were jumping on our backs and chests.

And, once you are jumped on, you are awake. So no sleeping late for me… and I freaking love sleep. So that was our routine every morning, getting jumped on, awake with aches from little feet and hands pounding on you, and going down to breakfast where your man makes you the most yummy toast and butter you have ever eaten.

I felt comfortable with the family but not super comfortable meaning I had to plan my bathroom time like I was figuring out a football play.  I made sure to go while everyone thought I was taking long showers and public bathrooms became my home away from home. And, my Brit had to know what was going down in those bathrooms because every time we went out, I paid the bathroom a visit, as if it was a tourist attraction.

I enjoyed his family so much that I was starting to picture a life there for my Brit and I, maybe because we did the “normal stuff” as well as “vacation stuff” meaning besides going out for meals and gorging on food and wine, we also dropped by the kids’ school for lunch to surprise them, take them to the movies, and like I said before, read to them every night.

We bought the family gifts as a thank you for letting us stay in their home for a week, a Jamie Oliver cook book and her favorite expensive jam for the sister in-law, which was a gift for the brother in-law because we made his wife happy, Hedwig stuffed animal from Harry Potter for the niece, and some Iron Man super toy for the nephew. I knew I was winning the family over, I mean I even got my Brit’s brother’s and sister in-law’s mobile numbers so we can text whenever.

The last day we were there, my Brit’s parents came in to see him and meet me. I was so nervous but when we came down for breakfast they welcomed me warm smiles and hugs. I was quiet during that meal, just wanting to gage the parents’ attitudes.

The parents wanted to take the family to lunch so I was panicking with what I was going to wear. I wanted to make a good impression and didn’t want to offend them in any way, especially with my big tits and fat ass. My Brit didn’t want that either because he knows how out of control my big tits can get, always wanting attention (greedy bastards) so he helped me pick out a midi skirt and top that covered the tits.

We went to a tourist attraction in the brother’s town, a mansion like home that was one of the queen’s. We had a nice lunch and walked around, talking, viewing, and shopping. We even all took pictures together… and I made it on their wall of family pictures!

But for some reason I felt uneasy around them, maybe because I want this relationship to work and know the influence of parents could wreck it. Plus, I know I am a smart lady but they seemed so intelligent and with my Long Island accent I didn’t want to say anything wrong or sound dumb. I mean they both were professors back in the day, so they could probably school me. Also, maybe because of those accents they just seem smarter too.

That’s all for this post. Will post part 3 shortly. You can email me with any questions or comments at diaryofalovefool@gmail.com

 

England Part 1

Dear Loves,

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.

If you have any questions or comments please email me at diaryofalovefool@gmail.com