The Scene
In bed, last night. Fiancé is reading, so I have a pillow over my eyes to block the light. The scalloped eyelet edge of it is hanging over my eyes, like a veil. Fiancé turns to me.
Fiancé: Aww, that’s how my beautiful bride is going to look on our wedding day.
Me: (contented sigh as I settle deeper into covers and prepare to doze off) Mmmhmm, only four months from now.
Fiancé: It’s three months away.
Me: Mmmh—WHAT?!
Fiancé: (counting out fingers) Mid-July, August, September, mid-October. Three months.
Me: Sweet mother of crap! How did I lose a month!? (spend next two hours staring at ceiling contemplating the 457 things I have to get done between now and Oct. 25)
The End
* It’s not really profanity if it comes from Dorothy Parker.
July 17, 2008 at 9:07 am
Now now, the correct verbiage is “sweet merciful crap.”
July 17, 2008 at 11:41 am
That’ll be my next DP tatt, fo’ sho’!
p.s. you and fiancé are sickeningly cute. stop.
July 17, 2008 at 3:06 pm
Does he really say stuff like that, or like a witness in court remembering more what he wants to remember rather than what actually happened, are you fluffing up his language for the sake of your blog? Did he really say something along the lines of “I like the fishnets babe”?
July 17, 2008 at 5:32 pm
I-66-I will remember that the next time I’m having a wedding- or election-related freakout. Like in three seconds.
Johanna-It’s an oldie but goody.
We tried to stop, I think it was 2004. No luck. We’re MFEO.
Rabble-No way, no day. As a reporter, I just couldn’t fudge the lingo for dramatic effect and if I did I would note why.
And that’s one of the many reasons that I’m more than a little wrapped on him—he says that kind of stuff—sparingly, mind you—while managing not to remotely sound like a pansy. It’s wicked hot.