Husband and I have flown into SanFran for a wedding sans kids (my parents are in town) and we are hob-knobbing at the groom’s parents house. We often see these friends annually on holidays but we haven’t visited this house for ten plus years and that first/last occasion is burned into my brain for not the best reason…
Husband proposed to me and then a few months later we flew into the US for his cousin’s wedding in TX and we also did a drive from SanFran to Oregon and planned our future lives during the drive. Anyhoo, on our last day at our friends’ house we had nothing doing before we left and so Husband showed me the lovely backyard. Bear in mind that I had been on the rag that week. Oh yeah, it’s one of those stories. I couldn’t find my bag to take with me so I forgot it to go and see the lovely yard. And the yard was lovely – blooming, fragrant, paved in part, private, the list of adjectives goes on. And there, in the middle of that pretty space, was my bag, with the remainder of the box of tampons, all over the ground. They were bitten, blown around, and generally LITTERING THE WHOLE GODDAMN YARD. The dog, the fucking dog, couldn’t get enough of me and so she had at some point, snuck into our room and stolen my bag to get a noseful before I walked out of her life forever, unbeknownst to her that I would eventually return. I was mortified to discover that picturesque blending of menstrual cotton and flagstone A) at all, B) in front of my newly-minted fiancé and C) thankfully – SO THANKFULLY – not in the company of our hosts. OMFG.
And so here we are, today. I was forced to face the scene of that particular crime against me and the yard wasn’t as verdant as I recall, but the dog looked just as guilty, but maybe her head was down because she was attempting to sniff me out, bitch!