Well, this should be a pretty obvious one for the week -- D passing the bar was euphoric for me , so as you can imagine he is practically over the moon. The bar website waited until 6pm ON THE DOT Friday evening to post the results (we checked a few minutes earlier and were told to return at 6). In the minutes leading up I stood in the kitchen, absentmindedly snacking on soy crackers to kill the tension that grew thicker with each tick of the little second hand on our French clock. I stared off into space, my back to D (who was on the computer) as I stuffed my face with crackers like a senile parrot and waited to hear some response from him to what he was seeing. Silence. Until....
I heard him stand up and walk into the kitchen behind me.
"Oh crap," I thought. "This can't be good..."
But as I turned around he had a giant smile on his face.
"You're looking at a lawyer!" he said. I squealed, he picked me up in his arms and spun me around in the kitchen. It was very James Stewart and Donna Reed from "It's a Wonderful Life."
Later we went out to celebrate with friends at a nice restaurant and I think we went through three bottles of wine that night. Lots of celebrating, food, and spirits. Then Saturday afternoon there was more celebrating, when we went over to my grandmother's house and had a couple bottles of 20-year-old champagne and a bottle of wine with her and my uncle. By that evening I was nearly three sheets to the wind (I LOVE champagne, but I swear the bubbles go straight to my head) when we left to make our dinner reservation D had made earlier that day. Yes, more celebrating. The reservation was for a fancy Italian restaurant we've been wanting to try forever since it's ranked as a top restaurant in our region and the wait was definitely worth it because the food was so good.
We started off with two appetizers: Smoked prosciutto and mussels "in bagna" (bathed) in garlic cream. Then for dinner D ordered roasted duck with spinach and brown sugar yams, while I got the linguini with scallops, olives, garlic and capers. Divine. Even better: We were seated at the last open table next to the main window, so we got to watch the rain outside over candlelight and wine. I could definitely get used to this.
Today I had a minor freak out in Nordstroms. We went after lunch since I needed new bras, and the lingerie section was completely chaotic and in disarray. Not a big deal, I get it, but I was already a little irritated since I'm almost finished surfing a certain crimson wave and my patience is thin during this time of the month. For some reason the mess really bothered me. When I go to a higher-end department store I expect certain things like clean countertops at the register (as opposed to piles of bras and panties heaped up like in Sears) and, oh I don't know, good service. I waited for nearly 30 minutes for someone to do a bra fitting on me, and when it was finally my turn to get all nakey in front of the frenzied store woman, I swear she didn't even measure me right!
"You're a 34D," she said, even though the cups were a little gigante. So she comes back with all 34Cs (hello? Didn't she just say I was a 34D??? And 34C was my size up until recently, but I've lost some weight in the last few months, hence the whole purpose of me coming in to buy a new arsenal of bras). And what does she give me? All the $80 Chantelle bras, even though I told her I was looking more in the $40 range. Big sigh. After she left I ducked out onto the floor and pulled a few of what I believed were more of my sizes and guess what? I'm actually a 32C!!! Thank god I didn't listen to that woman and her hurried sales pitches.
I've had bra fittings at Nordstroms before, but today was a first for me. After I left the fitting room I went over to the sales racks and was so stressed out I started crying (so stupid, I know but in my defense I get overly emotional when I pms). D was confused why I was crying, but he felt bad and asked if I wanted to go for a walk and come back. I shook my head no and he took the two bras I was holding then went through the rest of the bra rack, pulling out ones he thought I'd like, waiting for a head nod or a head shake from me. This is why I love him. Because even though I'm sure he'd rather be doing anything else on a Sunday besides shopping for lingerie in a crowded department store, he does it anyway, with patience and love.