Feb 19, 2008 17:13
Well, it's official. I'm a brand-spanking-new transplanted housewife...or MyLove's "tail" or "sanctioned boote'". Yes, I do have a lot of names, most of which just have something to do with MyLove's ability to enjoy my being near his vicinity. Oh well, I did always say that I wanted to be kept, be careful as they say: you wish upon a star and the sky will come down on your head.
So. It's been 8 days of my new life. And what do we have to show for it. Thus far I think "married" life means what do we eat next. I perfected two incredible dishes (I'm thinking later I will divulge in my "Advice to the not-so-young hostess" extravaganza) and MyLove is fat and happy, or not so happy because fat. He is not as fat as he thinks he is, but MyLove is a rockstar and a boy of a certain age, so any extra blip of carbs counts...or so he says.
So no more any "Russian bready" foods I was told. Hmm...now I'm the Queen of Salad (I wonder if Aretha will have a problem with that title). Moving on.
Boston IS lovely, it's true. It does look like Europe, that I also can concur. I've seen so little of it , what with the boxes still not being totally unpacked and general blah and strange weather, but I harber high hopes. I do like me some quaint life. MyLove has been erratic, but so apologetic after every episode of "I need some space, Sweetie", that I think I may give this little life of mine a chance...more later...