Wrapped in cotton (wool)

Montmatre, Paris honeymoon
cake shop in Paris
Gondola, Venice, our honeymoon
"swimming" in piazza San Marco, Venice, during aqua alta at midnight.

Apparently your second anniversary is cotton. WTF? Are they trying to break marriages up? Paper, then cotton? When do we get to the good stuff? Can’t we do it in reverse? (Diamond, then Emerald, then…)

To his credit, hub-in-boots woke me up this morning with pancakes and blueberries (please see former cake comments hub-in-boots. I’m not even going to TEST my blood sugar at 8:30) and a cup of tea, and a beautiful handmade cotton scarf from India. It comes from a Fair trade project called Shurjan in Gujurat, India, that helps women develop their business skills.

I ignored the cotton thing (hate rules), and bought hub-in-boots tickets to the Picasso exhibition tomorrow night. With his mum. (As much as I love Picasso, I’ve been to Picasso’s house in Barcelona and seen his pre-cubist work, seen the exhibition in Melbourne a few years back, and been to Renia Sofia in Madrid to see Guernica, so I’ll live).

The wedding day timetable

This was a busy day, two years ago. It was about now I was up and showering, and then the day was planned out for me on a blackboard (thanks bro)…lots of hair and make up, a roaring ride in a lotus convertible, until finally walking down the aisle at 4:30pm.

I knew once I’d done my speech and our dance I could really breathe out. I was looking forward to that moment all day. So I thought today I’d put up the last part of my wedding speech.

As a bit of background, Stewart (aka hub-in-boots), is the third Stewart that I’ve dated. I told him when we “met” online that I couldn’t date him because I’d hit my Stewart / Stuart quota for one lifetime. Stewart 1 was in the army, and Stuart 2 I lived in London with. I married Stewart 3.

When we first dated, I kept getting confused about his code of football. He specialises in umpiring, not playing, and I kept getting in trouble for calling him a referee (which is the code of football I grew up with). He also has been yelled at, on field, for looking a little like Mr Bean. sort of. He has long skinny legs, so his nickname at footy is “Chook” (and I, as a result, am Mrs Chook). He drives a little bright blue convertible Mazda, which his rallying friends call the Smurfmobile. When he concentrates on driving, he refuses to engage in conversation, or facial expressions. I call this “driving man”. And he made terrible cups of tea. For three months, when we first dated, I choked down these horrible concoctions at his apartment, always refusing a second cup. It turned out, he kept peppermint tea, chamomile, fruit, and ginger teas all in the same cannister as “normal” tea. Hence the taste sensation.

Stew had not dated much when we met, so he couldn’t read signals. He also did I a lot of interesting things, like forgetting to buy me dinner on our first date, being half cut and on a boat full of strangers by the time I showed up after work via the ferry to his annual sailing trip, a few months after we met. When ever he offered me an arm out of a chair or out of a car (or indeed got dressed), he would make a circus noise and say “hey hup” like he was an elephant trainer moving a large beast.

The speech was inspired by Dr Suess’ Green Eggs and Ham.

I knew Stews.

Stews a few.

Do you like Stews to date?

I do not like them, or their mate.

Do you like Stews in the army?

I do NOT like Stews, they are barmy!

Do you like Stew in Londontown?

I DON’T like Stews, they get me down.

Do you like Stews from Sydney’s south?

I do not like his KISSING MOUTH!

Do you like Stews like Mr Bean?

A Stew like this I’ve never seen!

Do you like Stews that umpire, not a ref?

I DON’T like Stews, man are YOU DEAF?

Do you like Stews in a bar?

A STEW in a BAR? You’ve gone too far.

I DO NOT like Stews in the army or Londontown or when its balmy

I DO NOT like Stews from the south, a Mr Bean umpire kissing mouth

I do NOT like his movie laugh

I do NOT like his hairy bath!

I do NOT like sprint cars! A Winner?

This guy forgot to buy me dinner!

 

I will say it til my face is blue,

I DO NOT like Stews, Stews a few.

Do you like his driving man?

No! His cups of tea? I’m not a fan.

Would you date him on a yacht?

I would not, could not, on a yacht

With Tea and valentines forgot

I could not date someone that long free

And WHEN would he find time for me?

I could not date him at a picture show

He’d slap my knee and then bellow

I could not date his tiny shorts and

Chicken legs and funny snorts

And circus noises, and toothpaste talk

“HEY HUP!” he’d say, and then I’D walk.

He can’t read signals, by GOD it’s true

I CANNOT, WILL NOT date a STEW!

You do not like Stews,

So you say

Try it! Try it! And you may!

Try it and you may I say!

 

Say!

I DO like Stews! Stews are fun!

I DO like Stews! But ONLY ONE.

I LIKE his great big blue eyes

I like his skill with a surprise

I like it how he pours champagne,

And how he’s CLOSE to QUITE insane.

And I WILL love him at a track

And at a GAME I’ll LOVE HIS BACK!

And I will love his movie laugh

And when he puts candles round my bath

I LOVE how he makes everything FUN

He’s kind and caring, there’s only one.

I love his hugs, and stupid jokes

And Steweeisms, he’s SUCH a bloke.

I love the speed at which he drinks

And how his tongue pokes out when he thinks.

I love it how he makes me feel.

I EVEN love his SMURFMOBILE!

I love his skills with a kitchen knife

I THINK that I should BE HIS WIFE!

And finally, I can say it’s true

I DO like Stews….Stew, I DO!

 

Happy anniversary Stew, aka Disco Stoo, aka Chook, aka hub-in-boots. Love Jojo x

 

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