Disclaimer: This post mentions topics involving consensual sexual violence. Not suitable for individuals under eighteen years of age. Reader discretion is advised.
Good evening lovelies,
I hope you’re all well and had a wonderful weekend! It’s been quite pleasant here but still very little freedom in lockdown. On Saturday, Wolfie and I chewed apart the UK government’s decision to open the schools, while keeping the rest of us inside our homes. No matter what our government said, it seemed that young children could be trusted to wash their hands and stay only in small groups of friends in the playground, but not us, not the adults.
In the UK now, a lot of people are ignoring the lockdown. So many of the rules simply don’t make sense and the British people are confused. Case in point, in a recent episode of The Misadventures of Romesh Ranganathan, Romesh asked UK health secretary Matt Hancock if people could meet both parents, two metres apart and for ten minutes each. The answer was yes, British people can indeed meet their mother for ten minutes and then meet their father, for ten minutes each, provided that the individuals from both households stay two metres apart. As to be expected, Romesh pointed out the absurdity of such a situation, and it is indeed this same absurdity that has a lot of people laughing at the lockdown now.
For me personally, I’m just counting down the days. My meeting with my family happened last week, but I’m hopeful that two households will be able to merge soon, and we won’t need to stay apart for much longer. Before the lockdown, Mum and I used to go walking together and we used to help each other with shopping, gardening and housework. I think getting that back up and running again will do good for our physical and mental health.
In other good news, you’ll recall that I shared not so long ago that my mother had tested positive for coronavirus and had been quite unwell with it. I’m delighted to say that, apart from residual tiredness, she is back to her old self. Not only, but she confirmed that cases in her work are now within single figures and that a sense of hope and optimism is gradually replacing the panic and despair that was present not so long ago.
But coronavirus isn’t why we’re here.
Yesterday, Wolfie and I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. It’s been really hard to find one another gifts, but having sighted an onyx-and-silver men’s bracelet at a more-money-than-it’s-worth price tag, I set about some creativity of my own.
“Up, or I’ll do spankies” I warned.
“You might want to rethink that”
“Hmm… Kay, thought about it, one! Two! Three!” I laughed, landing my palm lightly across his rump.
“.. Six! Seven!” I sat over him, nuzzling his cheek. “Happy seventh wedding anniversary, sweetheart.”
“Revenge will be mine” he grinned, rolling me and cuddling me. “Happy seven years, kitten.”
I left the bedroom to use the facilities and get the kettle boiling. I fished the starry-paper wrapped present from under the coffee table and returned to the bedroom. I passed the gift to Matt and sat on the bed, “pour vous” I smiled.
“Kitten..” he warned, cylinders don’t normally make liquid sounds, so he knew almost instantly that it was probably alcohol. I shrugged, it’s a special day. It’s allowed.
“With something in it?” he regarded me as he observed the rattle inside.
“Who knows? Maybe.”
“Well obviously you do, you put it there!”
“First of all, that’s an accusation, Mr Wolf,” I began, “and secondly, you know I don’t like you using that word.”
Obviously. The word was obviously. Nothing in life is obvious.
Of course, I did put it there really. If it’s mischief and mayhem, it probably falls back to me somewhere.
“It’s a..” he wondered, observing the single tiny charm.
“It’s a knight’s helmet, for my knight in shining armour” I began, “onyx is also the stone for this year and a protection stone if you believe in that sort of thing. Useless to you of course, because you don’t” I teased. Wolfie often mocks me for my beliefs in crystal properties and crystal healing.
“Well thankyou anyway!” he said exasperated, “but really, you’re already in trouble.” His eyes moved to the bottle of 12-year-old Aberfeldy Scotch single whisky and I tried for my most appeasing look. He knew it didn’t come cheap, and I knew he didn’t like me spending too much money.
“Close your eyes and open your hands” he said. I laughed.
“No sex! God Matthew, you’re insatiable but really, it’s too early! You know I like to do housework first, then we’ll see!”
“Open your hands” he reiterated again, “it’s not my dick, I promise.”
I closed my eyes and held out my hands, why oh why do I trust him far more in a scene than I do outside of it? When I opened them again, it was there. A white box.
Oh, kind of disappointing.
I opened the box tentatively to a block of polystyrene. Don’t be fish! Please don’t be fish! I have no room for more fish!
Instead, I found a sparkling deep red rose inside a gold-based bell jar. I knew immediately what it was meant to be.
“Oh my god Wolfie! I love it!” I squealed. 31-year-old me went out of the window. The six-year-old Disnerd was back in full force again.
I placed it tentatively atop the bookcase and revelled at it for a while. The sparkles, the fallen rose petals. Perfect in every way.
“There were a lot of lights in it, too many to be honest, so I trimmed some of them out. If you don’t like it you can reposition them.”
My jaw fell open. It’s been Wolfie’d too? How perfect!
We didn’t do too much with the day, unfortunately, because of it being a Sunday and the ongoing lockdown, there wasn’t too much that we really could do. Matt did buy a bottle of wine to go with our Sunday roast chicken dinner, a slightly more affordable bottle of Echo Falls Summer Fruits.
“Santé!” he said, holding up his glass.
“Cheers, because I am English” I smiled as I clinked his glass. I set down my glass and picked up my cutlery.
“Itadakimasu” I smirked, intentionally avoiding his gaze.