My parents have been staying for the last couple of days, which has been lovely. Last night they took us out for a belated birthday dinner and yet more salted caramel desserts were consumed – this time salted caramel mousse with dark chocolate and gingerbread. I wore my new owl dress (thanks Em!), and drank fizzy red wine that tasted of strawberries, and celebrated being 29 all over again.
This weekend the forecast is for sun – thank you, British summer, for eventually showing up to the party – so we are having a barbecue to celebrate the fact we finally, finally, after five and a half years, have painted the outside of the house. Thanks to help from S’ parents, we now have walls that are a rich cream colour, like a piece of clotted cream fudge, rather than the dingy prison grey they’ve been since we moved in. With that and the deck and my rose bush in full bloom we have a garden that is something to be proud of, rather than it being a public eyesore and the despair of our neighbours. And that, more than buying the house in the first place, and more than marriage vows and savings accounts and being a gainfully employed member of society, makes me feel like a proper grown up. It’s only taken 29 years.