Vignettes from an anniversary morning

[cosmolinguist]

"I love you so much," Andrew told me, "that when I was napping yesterday I dreamed you'd grown a beard like James Hennigan's but I still loved you."

"I'd never do a thing like that, don't be ridiculous." Nothing against James, a hard-working Lib Dem councillor for Levenshulme, but I don't think it'd suit me.

#

He rolled over so he was half-lying on me -- "anniversary cuddle," he explained this, whereas I was already wondering about the possibility of anniversary coffee -- and then touched the tip of my nose with his index finger, something he knows I hate. "I poke your nose," he said, solemnly and as if imparting important information. Before I could say or do anything, he stabbed at it a couple more times. "Eight pokes for eight years!"

There was wrestling and giggling (some of it more like maniacal laughter) and I ended up pressing my nose against his where he couldn't get to it, but that just made him kiss me, which I thought was appalling because this'd already turned into How You Think Couples Act From Seeing Them In Films (except for the films that would interpret "eight pokes" differently).

But then Andrew got out of bed and I told him off for doing a big fart just as he was leaving the room, leaving me to suffer the consequences, and normality was restored.

Comments

[sfred]

Happy anniversary!

[cosmolinguist]

Thanks. :)