I’m back! It’s been a long absence, I know, but then I’ve had tons of stuff going on. I’ve started my French language course, signed up to a degree starting in April and work has now picked up. Really rather busy! And as for my title, I ate one of these last weekend. Yup, that’s right. On Saturday night, I ate cuisses des grenouilles, or frog legs. I still can’t believe I managed it, but in truth, they weren’t that bad. Somewhere between chicken and fish. No snails. This time.
As you might have guessed, I was back in France with The Frenchman. Suffice it to say, it was great. Beautiful weather (for February) on the day I arrived, bright sun, warm air. Fab. Then light snow on Saturday. Talk about changeable. It was a really chilled weekend, which was just as well since I’m skint as a mofo. Highlights included:
- Him surprising me at the station when I arrived since I thought he’d have to work until a couple of hours later
- Amazing sex. Pretty standard, really 😉
- Playing squash. And, can I just say, how much of a turn on is it watching a guy who’s good at sports? Turns out he’s one of those annoying people who are pretty good at any sport they turn their hands to. Cue weak knees as he exhibited his great ball control
- Grinning at the cute-ness of his geekiness when I snuck a peek at magazines about his hobby on his bookshelf
- Grinning even more at the cute-ness of him keeping the label I’d attached to the Christmas present I’d sent him which was tucked away on his bookshelf
- Curling up on the sofa watching football on Sunday afternoon
- Giggling/choking at shots of rum before making home-made mojitos
- Cramming into a tiny pub to watch Olympique de Marseille take on Paris St-Germain and David Beckham’s goldenballs
- Jumping out of my skin when he did the biggest fart in bed
The last one really made me smile. Sounds weird, I know, but it’s like this. For 3 nights and 4 days, that just doesn’t happen. We’re still at that stage where we pretend we don’t poo, or fart, or anything other than go for a quick tinkle and burp. I can’t tell you how painful it is. I actually thought I’d die on Sunday when we were watching the football. I couldn’t even finish my beer, I was ridiculously bloated. So when we went to bed and he started snoring minutes later, I nearly jumped out of bed when he let some rip. Bless. Clearly he was feeling as bloated as I was. When does it become okay to do this stuff? I’m not suggesting we should be cocking our legs up on the sofa having farting competitions. I’m a believer that some things should stay private and I think he does too. He closes the bathroom door whenever he goes to get rid of his condom and clean up etc but, come on. I’m waiting for him to make a faux pas first. I’m a lady, you know.
It was a nice weekend that, as usual, went way too quickly. I found out more about him, he found out more about me. We goofed around, we watched films and it was nice not to be doing something. I told him he didn’t have to feel he needed to entertain me the whole time while I’m there, it’s nice just to see what his life is like. So now I’m back to that normal feeling of, meh, what do I do now? This set up is so, so hard, though I guess it’s easier than it should be (by rights). Is it dangerous to say I’m dreaming of the time I can just go live there and make it all much easier?