All righty then!
Here we go, thank you to all and everyone for the best wishes, it fair brought a tear to my eye it did. What a yummy bunch of people you all are. Eee.
The easiest thing is to do this...
Wednesday- Regressa me! Concert amazing, 14000 people screaming- my friend and I are smiling and passing binoculars back and forth.
Suddenly the spanish singer (baritone) interrupts concert to say Barcelona have scored a 'GOALLLLLL'
Place erupts. I frown, glance crankily at watch. 'get back to the blasted singing' I may or may not have shouted. The woman beside me is shrieking.
Moments later or so it seemed, he holds up his hand and informs us of a second goal.
13, 998 people stamp their feet and sing 'Champion-es champion-es wo way wo way wo way!!!!!!' forever. After what seems like two weeks of this they finally quieten down. Il Divo sing their version of 'My way' and it is good night and good luck.
We leave. I accidently on purpose kick the shin of the woman beside me as I walk past her. She yelps, I feel better.
Outside 14,000 people stand around. 13, 998 are singing and the noise of car horns is unbearable, 'parp parp, parp parp parp, parp, parp, parp BARCA!'and not a single fucking taxi from Palau Sant Jordi. They are all in bars drunk, the bastards.
Finally we find the one taxi driver in the town who-luckily for us -had been to the concert. We ambush-er, flag him down and plead with him to take us. He says he is not working. I beg and plead. He relents, but we have to listen to him scream out the window and parp his horn all the LONG way back to town. Motos are weaving in and out of traffic, flags hanging from windows, A man with cruches yells 'Yarrrhrhrhrhhrxx' in the window at us. Cops are everywhere. Smoking and doing exactly nothing.
Drink copiously, fall asleep, wake up ten minutes later feeling ill. Stumble to bathroom, vomit like Linda Blair thrice. Hey, aren't those the mussels I ate earlier?
'Hello there' I say, 'fancy meeting you again.' or 'Belarrrrgghghh'
Back to bed.
In the distance fire works explode and that fucking Barca song duke it out to see which can be the most annoying sound in the planet.
Next day I travel some, meet paramour. He is glum and sad. But his arms never looked better. I am sympathetic and agree that yes, if they'd had eleven men they would have won, and that the referee was on the BCN payroll and yes, we hates them precious. I tell him the riot police shot loads of BCN supporters with rubber bullets and that I bet it really hurt a lot. That cheered him up.
Spend day together, there is a great deal of kising and so on. Later that evening over a glass of wine the Paramour says.
'You know something? As bad as I was feeling earlier, just being with you has made it better.'
'Ah.' I say and paw him some more.
'Marry me.' he says.
'What?' I say, laughing.
'I want you to marry me.' he takes my hand in his. 'Will you?'
I blink. 'Are you serious?'
'Very'
I laugh some more.
'Well I don't know, 'I say oh so slyly. 'You would have to ask me properly.'
'Okay' he says, and lo, he did get on bended knee in the middle of a very crowded pub and took my hand in his. People start nudging each other and pointing.
'Miss Cat, ' he said, red faced ' will you marry me?'
''I surely will.' I say
We kiss. Then he falls to the ground clutching his hands to his ears as the glass shattering squeal alerts nearby dolphins that the jig is up and we humans are on to them.
The easiest thing is to do this...
Wednesday- Regressa me! Concert amazing, 14000 people screaming- my friend and I are smiling and passing binoculars back and forth.
Suddenly the spanish singer (baritone) interrupts concert to say Barcelona have scored a 'GOALLLLLL'
Place erupts. I frown, glance crankily at watch. 'get back to the blasted singing' I may or may not have shouted. The woman beside me is shrieking.
Moments later or so it seemed, he holds up his hand and informs us of a second goal.
13, 998 people stamp their feet and sing 'Champion-es champion-es wo way wo way wo way!!!!!!' forever. After what seems like two weeks of this they finally quieten down. Il Divo sing their version of 'My way' and it is good night and good luck.
We leave. I accidently on purpose kick the shin of the woman beside me as I walk past her. She yelps, I feel better.
Outside 14,000 people stand around. 13, 998 are singing and the noise of car horns is unbearable, 'parp parp, parp parp parp, parp, parp, parp BARCA!'and not a single fucking taxi from Palau Sant Jordi. They are all in bars drunk, the bastards.
Finally we find the one taxi driver in the town who-luckily for us -had been to the concert. We ambush-er, flag him down and plead with him to take us. He says he is not working. I beg and plead. He relents, but we have to listen to him scream out the window and parp his horn all the LONG way back to town. Motos are weaving in and out of traffic, flags hanging from windows, A man with cruches yells 'Yarrrhrhrhrhhrxx' in the window at us. Cops are everywhere. Smoking and doing exactly nothing.
Drink copiously, fall asleep, wake up ten minutes later feeling ill. Stumble to bathroom, vomit like Linda Blair thrice. Hey, aren't those the mussels I ate earlier?
'Hello there' I say, 'fancy meeting you again.' or 'Belarrrrgghghh'
Back to bed.
In the distance fire works explode and that fucking Barca song duke it out to see which can be the most annoying sound in the planet.
Next day I travel some, meet paramour. He is glum and sad. But his arms never looked better. I am sympathetic and agree that yes, if they'd had eleven men they would have won, and that the referee was on the BCN payroll and yes, we hates them precious. I tell him the riot police shot loads of BCN supporters with rubber bullets and that I bet it really hurt a lot. That cheered him up.
Spend day together, there is a great deal of kising and so on. Later that evening over a glass of wine the Paramour says.
'You know something? As bad as I was feeling earlier, just being with you has made it better.'
'Ah.' I say and paw him some more.
'Marry me.' he says.
'What?' I say, laughing.
'I want you to marry me.' he takes my hand in his. 'Will you?'
I blink. 'Are you serious?'
'Very'
I laugh some more.
'Well I don't know, 'I say oh so slyly. 'You would have to ask me properly.'
'Okay' he says, and lo, he did get on bended knee in the middle of a very crowded pub and took my hand in his. People start nudging each other and pointing.
'Miss Cat, ' he said, red faced ' will you marry me?'
''I surely will.' I say
We kiss. Then he falls to the ground clutching his hands to his ears as the glass shattering squeal alerts nearby dolphins that the jig is up and we humans are on to them.
posted by fatmammycat at 9:48 a.m.
15 Comments:
Holy Smokes, that's sweet! In public, no less. AWwwwwww.
He was mortified though. I didn't evven think it was possible to go that colour.
Very kewl! :)
Ta very much. I never figured myself for a romantic, but I swear, I get all sniffly even thinking about it.
well it's a good thing your boys lost, then, isn't it??
FMC, i love the fact that a total pottymouthed badass such as yourself can be brought to sniffles by romance.
I fully accept my brand of obnoxious guff makes it seem odd that I might like romance, but I do. I like walks and kisses and little stupid notes, candlelight dinners, flowers, weekends away and romantic gestures. I like poignant moments and lip wobblingly heart stoppingly twee vomit makingly cringe worthingly moments too.
Etheline-who has been engaged since the oldest of the cats was much younger- is very worried that she might actually have to go ahead and marry her finacé now, lest I beat her to the alter and leave her as the 'unmarried one' Most amusing. Clearly it has been some unspoken 'thing' in my family that I would be the one who would babysit forever and allow them all to say things like, 'oh that one will never settle down' for ever.
Congrats!
Ta John!
ah, Domestic Envy/Sibling Pressure. my three cousins (sisters) raced each other to the altar, and then to the maternity ward.
the race tapered off after the last one popped out her 3rd kid. i'm guessing they're all pretty tired.
you and etheline have a lot more going for ya, though. (you're not bible thumpers, for one.)
Christ no, and that sounds awful. I don't mind winding Etheline up a bit, but that's all.
FMC that is so sweet. Good story for the grandchildren too. Needless to say I'm green with envy.
Which part did you like best, the copious vomiting or the part where I squealed like a stuck pig?
I kid I kid, it was very very cute of him. I felt like quite the princess.
As we say here in the middle east "Mabrouk" may it be long and happy the marriage that is not the engagement may that be happy and short.
Ta yer hawtness.
FMC, I'm thoroughly impressed -- sounds like you've got a keeper. Congratulations, my dear! He sounds positively wonderful...
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