"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"
I can't believe it's over. No more theorizing with my nerdiest friends about whether Snape is good or bad... no more wondering if Ron and Hermione are ever going to get it on. All that's left to look forward to now is the next movie.
I felt like I was a part of an important cultural phenomonen Saturday in Indianapolis, seeing all the people sitting at outdoor cafe tables and on park benches with the same book on their laps that I had in my tote bag. Clint and I took a break from shopping and sat on the courthouse steps... me with Harry Potter and him with a new comic book, and just read. And read.
By the way, walking all over downtown Indianapolis in sandals with a heavy book in your bag = not smart. I nearly collapsed at the end of the day. Our trip was great, by the way. I really wish we could move up there soon. As much as I'm beginning to appreciate Vincennes, I'd rather live in a bigger city. I saw some pretty apartment buildings north of the downtown area and pictured us living there as we drove by. Maybe in a year or two. *shrug*
The trip could have been a little more romantic, but I'm beginning to learn that... that's just not Clint. He has his own ways of showing that he cares. Coming home to find him at the sink doing the dishes (he knows I hate doing them) is good enough for me. I'm realizing that things like that are way more romantic that any flower he's ever given me. We've had some lengthy discussions about our relationship lately, reflecting on the past year, and we're both going to make compromises. I need to be a little less "OHMYGOSH IT'S SO NICE OUT, LET'S HAVE A PICNIC ON THE ROOF, I'LL MAKE SANDWICHES!" and he needs to hold back on the retching noises when I make suggestions such as that. I always thought we were so alike, but our differences are more obvious now. It only makes things more interesting.
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Man, I love painting with the kids at work and following demands like "NOW MAKE PINK!" but I hate leaving work up to my elbows in paint, sometimes with assorted colors of child-sized handprints on my butt.