Now the rest of my life can begin…
because the increasingly accurately-named
shove_this_job has finally gotten permission from the glorious British government to move over and live with me in my West London palace for a very very long time.
After all the stressing of getting documents together for proof and all that, it did seem like a relatively easy process. Just the nail-biting wait – and we paid an extra $100 for an expediter to get an express service too.
Still, now I have three or so weeks to turn my bachelor West London pad into a place permanently fit for a Queen. so that means out with the old rotting food and the decade-old mattress, and in with a new one. Although she likes it soft and I like it hard (fnarr fnarr) so I guess this means we’ll have to compromise!
What else do I need, besides lots of new coathangers and Lush soaps?
Mirrored from almost witty.
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I was going to say "I hope you'll have fun" but that seems rather moot, given your current comment, heh.
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Wait. That's going to lead to more confessions.
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I have no idea what that would look like and don't want to.