Except if you're madly in love. Which I am.
I walked home from work last night - in my new Reeboks. Stopped at a continental delicatessen and bought dolma and a wedge of handmade Belgian chocolate. Crossed the street and bought two Hoegaarden from the fridge at Dan Murphy's. Strutted home, toward my love.
Ate our treats, got dressed and walked up to the tram stop, cut across the Treasury Gardens, saw a wedding on the steps and some lesbians pashing on at the base of a tree.
We went on a date. Long anticipated, it was a place he'd drunk at while I was away. With TT and KP. Or just TT. But definitely not me. So it was magical to be there, together, as it had been created in our imaginations...
So happy, quickly drunk, so happy. Ate pizza after pizza then a chocolate one then home. So happy.