Trevor, our lovely English friend who has a second home in the village, sent me an email the other night to say that he and his family would be arriving on Friday morning and was there was anything we might want or need from the Mother Land.
Off the top of my head I couldn't think of anything but I jokingly told him I'd love a bra from Marks & Spencer but perhaps I should talk to his wife about that.
"Right then," he said. "Give us the details..."
The vision of a simple bra, the right size and not costing a minor fortune shimmered before my eyes. So, in a white wine induced moment of insanity, I told this lovely friend, a man I am not related to in any way, a man who I see twice a year at best, my bra size.
This will be a whole new shopping experience for them I am sure. I can't even imagine trying to explain to a sales girl who or what said article of clothing is being bought for. More proof indeed that I am completely nuts. For not only am I now asking for people to bring me peanut butter from the United States, but underwear from the UK.
I got anther email from Trevor last night telling me he had his two 20 year old daughters on the case. They were both impressed and horrified at my size (just you wait, girls) but seemed ready to tackle the search for a scaffold. Bless 'em.
When I related this whole story to Hubster, he got that look on his face that I love. That look that says, "you-are-such-a-flid-why-on-earth-am-I-married-to-you?" To which, I smile, try to look cute and say, "well, at least I didn't ask them to buy me a puppy."