It’s all about love, actually

Sometimes, like tonight, I look at my husband Gunther, his beard (“beard” but bless him for trying, he imagines himself to have the chin of Moanmoan the Samoan (and probably the rest of Moanmoan the Samoan, oh, Gunther, where have your many work outs at the gym gone?), the truth is more like one of those bald cats gone wrong), I listen to his chainsaw-like snoring as BBC Three blares Goodfellas (why? Why, BBC? You are supposed to be an Educational institution and you are showing a Life of Crime!!! I am of two minds to write a letter of complaint) which he (Gunther, not the BBC) is “watching, I am not asleep” and I think – after all, Gunther saved me from being murdered or worse by the evil men chasing my boyfriend, who, which I obviously never knew back then, turned out to be a Colombian drug lord (a LOT of people have big transparent bags of flour and powdered sugar in their many yachts, if I had a yacht myself I would always make sure I had flour and powdered sugar at hand in case unexpected guests show up and I have to make pancakes very fast), and I ask – was it worth it, the not being murdered or worse being paid for by now having been married to Gunther for I am not telling you how many years, when I have never really loved him and he only loved (so I suspect, although how do you really prove it?) the suitcase I grabbed in a hurry that turned out to accidentally contain between one and three millions of dollars (I am not sure, because we quickly popped over to Switzerland to deposit it on a secure bank account as running around with suitcases full of millions of dollars is not very handy, especially when you need to use the ladies’ powder room while your soon-to-be-husband whom you almost completely trusts insists that he will wait outside and not at all run away with the suitcase, so we (as in I) just sort of threw the money (in the suitcase) (metaphorically, we wouldn’t want to harm the clerk and also the suitcase) at the clerk and now we live modestly, if elegantly and classily (except Gunther’s Prongles and Aldi Strong beer), from the interest (this means the bank sends us the money that has grown on top of the rest of the money, I am not entirely sure how it works, but it will keep Gunther swimming in Prongles and Aldi Strong beer, and my sherry cabinet never quite runs empty either except on Saturday nights when Ethel and Myrna come over to play canasta)…

I got lost a bit in this sentence, especially with the brackets, but the question is really – WAS IT WORTH IT?

I could have had my choice of men, and in my prime, which was not at all long ago (my designer Paolo, when he made my new face in the AI, which I will be premiering soon, said he made me look the age that I am when I specifically requested the age that I feel, i.e. 29) I did, as evidenced by having (unknowingly) snatched myself a Colombian drug lord whose many yachts were filled to the brim with flour that was worth much more than flour we buy at Aldi. (By the way, I condemn any use of narcotics. If I had known, which I did not, I would have left my boyfriend and his many yachts immediately and reported him to the authorities, despite imminent danger to my life, because I am a staunch supporter of not using narcotics.) Except I didn’t have that choice, because there were no other men available around at that moment willing to save my life, and then don’t you agree that it would be a bit rude to refuse a proposal from the man who just saved your (my) life and also was a personal trainer with the body of a personal trainer (and unfortunately the throbbing pole of manliness of a personal trainer, which is why I am also a staunch supporter of not using steroids)? And so, led by the manners trained into me by the nuns who raised me, I said “yes” and today here I am, with a small drop of sherry left next to me and a big loud Gunther next to me, and with Goodfellas, thinking. WAS IT WORTH IT?

Yes, my dear Fans! It is a yes.

Because it’s all about love. This is why I write love stories which are about love. And Scotsmen, because it’s also about Scotsmen (Gunther is, as you guessed from his name, Czechoslovakian) which I have investigated thoroughly (Gareth, if you lost my number, I hope you are reading this, and despite me being in cognito recognise me – I am the one who said “oh baby” upon the sight of what hid underneath your kilt and then didn’t say anything for a while, although I am aware this might not narrow your range of search very much, because, Gareth, let’s face it, I only name my favourite characters after you and so far there is only one and he’s unreleased yet because he will be in my epic fantasy grim dark romantic historical novel). But in truth, it’s all about love.

Which is why I smile, as I look at Gunther and listen to his snoring as it wrestles the what was it? Goodfellas? I can’t be bothered to check, because here I am, with the love of my life next to me, and with a bit of sherry inside me maybe (‘lol’). And I feel content. I love you, my sweet, I will love you forever, I cherish every moment we spend together.

I am of course talking about my dog Lassie, who is named after Lassie from the movie Lassie.

A single decision can change your life, Dear Fan. You may decide to move a butterfly’s wings in Australia, which seems so far away from England which is where I currently am with my beloved Lassie, and the wind will cause a hurricane that will carry a Titanic to crash into Belgium, and then you will find yourself living in Tasmania with your lesbian female wife named something Tasmanian (I don’t know Tasmanian names and it’s too late at night to conduct research). Or having a boyfriend named Andreas who is vegan. Or being dead to actually being caught by the evil men sent after your boyfriend who happened to be a Colombian drug lord and never told you, and of course you would never listen to his business-related telephone calls, because that would be invasion of privacy. And none of this matters, because the most importantly, you don’t have Lassie next to you.

And so, actually, yes, it was worth it.

For love.

♥️

This is unrelated, but life insurance policy requires you to list all ailments, medications, doctors, and illnesses your husband has ever had, and how do I ask Gunther about that inconspicuously?