I’m a married lady in Letchworth UK

I got here last Friday without incident.  (Last time I came I got held in immigration because being a writer isn’t a proper job and I hadn’t known Ben for very long according to some old man stranger.  Oh, and I’m black.) We drove up to Letchworth which is about an hour north of London and began settling in.  We got some fish and chips.  I started unpacking my bag of dirty clothes (cause I was skint on my way here, waiting for a check that didn’t come til yesterday) and getting myself generally acclamated to the house and such.  We live in a rented room, but have free reign of the entire house while the owner’s away in Thailand.  

It’s cute.  It has a garden and I watch the birds in the morning at the feeder.  There’s been no bird related violence.  So different from NY where pigeons will turn on each other for a piece of fried chicken.  Cannibals!

I walked around town and met Ben at the grocery.  It was all so civilized. We bought food and booze to get us through the weekend cause we were on a budget.  He’d sent me a bunch of money for immigration and such (FUCK YOU SENATE & CONGRESS!  EXTEND UNEMPLOYMENT BENEFITS!) so he was on thin ice too. But we got some wine and steaks and whiskey and veggies and breakfast food and were all couplely.  We ate and drank and talked our way through the weekend.  It was our honeymoon.

That was the first weekend we were together alone as a married couple doing regular things.  We went to a pub to have a beer and watch some of the match on Sunday before realizing we could do that at home.  Then made Sunday roast and chilled before he had to go to work the next day. I feel like I’ve been washing dishes and clothes for a week.  It explains why my house is such a mess.  This housework is for real.  

Then we went to the Derby in Liverpool Tuesday (which will be further explored in another post) and now I’ve finally gotten to the point where I am sitting here writing and going to post about being a married lady.  

I guess I’m making it up as I go along.  It’s like being boyfriend and girlfriend for life.  I’m aware of trying not to look like a slob, but I hadn’t showered by the time he got home yesterday.  Going to bed when he goes to bed, which is bloody early to my NY internal time.  It’s like going to bed at 4 in the afternoon.  And waking up when he does which is 4a and none of my friends are up yet to talk to on the Facebook, except my Cali peeps. 

There’s a lot more to unpackage but this is a start.

But I’m excited to have a husband that I like very much even when we’re both being big drunk babies.  

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