The day of the big knickers.

 

This morning I am still in recovery from the thrills and spills of last night.

The evening started in the best way possible: my daughter Tracey and her boyfriend Mitch were out for the evening which left Wendy and I alone.  I recommended a little jaunt to “Bitz and Pizzas” our local Italian, but Wendy suggested we went to The Cross Keys instead for a quiet drink.

The pub was remarkably quiet and Wendy took a seat in the corner of the public bar and I ordered a Spritzer and a pint of Feltcher (a new local brew)  together with  two bags of Pork Scratchings.  I sat down and  looked and Wendy – she looked as lovely as she ever had – her new highlights reflecting the flickering lights from the “Who wants to be a Millionaire” machine.

We talked and we talked. Then we talked and we talked.  We talked about the good times and we talked about the difficult times.  We spoke about the past and we chatted about the future.  My eyes moistened as Wendy said she was happy living with me and that moving back was the best thing she had done. It was time for us to go home.

I’m not going to go into detail about what happened for the rest of the night, but let’s just say I awoke with the soft feeling of duck down feathers under my head rather than a cushion.  I woke with a smile.  The smile seemed etched on my face as I climbed out of bed, slightly aching, but with a warm feeling inside.

I glanced at Wendy sleeping peacefully, content with her world and then I glanced at the floor.  I saw what I thought was a small parachute; a tent perhaps, big enough for a small family ?  It was the “big knickers” – I had always wondered when the big knickers would move into Chez Templeton and they had arrived quietly and gently and without a huge statement. “They could stay”  I thought.

 

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