petite anglaise

January 3, 2005

Happy New Year

Filed under: french touch — petiteanglaise @ 10:08 am

I am wondering whether the way I saw in the New Year augurs well for 2005.

It all started well as Mr Frog and I, accompanied by my sister and her fiancé, had a civilised meal in a gorgeous Thai restaurant we had been itching to try for some time. The food was amazing, if a little fiercely spiced, and with each successive dish our lips and mouths burned a little hotter and we felt obliged to extinguish the flames with large quantities of wine. We drove along York’s scariest pub crawl street (Micklegate) on the way home in order to point and laugh at all the girlies with their mini skirts on tightless legs, strappy tops baring arms and shoulders, glad to be inside a heated car muffled up in jumpers and coats.

And then it all started to go wrong. Shortly before midnight after a couple of G&T’s, petite anglaise decided that New Year or no, it was time to call it a night and lie down, stomach churning with spicy food swimming in a vinegar coulis. I am not proud of my early departure, but at least I know when enough is enough. Mr Frog, singularly unimpressed and fired up on Chimay and assorted spirits – which I think you will agree do not generally sit well with wine, champagne and Thai food – dragged my father down to the village pub to join my siblings and watch the fireworks. And continue drinking. I half awoke when he slipped into bed and I gather my first words to him in 2005 were ‘WTF are you doing texting at this time of night?’ as I became dimly aware of a tappety tapping noise and saw the backlight of his mobile gleaming in the darkness.

Some time later I was roused again, this time by a hand touching my forehead. I made out a shadowy figure crossing the room. Then I heard a coughing noise I know only too well. Mr Frog did not make it to the bathroom.

And so it was that my first deed of 2005 was dealing with a soiled towel and bedclothes – which would not have been out of place in the film ‘Trainspotting’ – using only the bathroom sink and toilet. I couldn’t even get downstairs to the washing machine as I knew the burglar alarm would be switched on and couldn’t for the life of me remember the code. After leaving an embarrassed little note for my mum instructing her to touch the pile of festering bedlinen in the bath under no circumstances, I went back to bed and called Mr Frog every nasty name I could think of in a very angry whisper.

This morning on the metro I finally got around to switching on my mobile phone, which had gone down with a nasty case of flat battery during my stay in the UK as I had omitted to pack my charger. And found a text from Mr Frog written at 1 am on Saturday 1 January 2005 which read:


‘Je t’aime [insert secret pet name here] et je te souhaite une merveilleuse année 2005’

I’m feeling a little guilty now.

10 Comments

  1. He’s so cute. Even if he did make a mess. (Aren’t all men like that? Like big hairy dogs.)

    Comment by Claire — January 3, 2005 @ 12:45 pm

  2. I think no guilt is necessary when dealing with vomit (unless you’re the one that did the actual vomiting). I know there’s that whole agreeing to share things in a relationship and such, but I am not of the opinion that bodily functions are required.

    That said, I did once do the puking off the side of the bed (and alas, a bit on the bed too), to which David was a superstar who jumped into motion, scrubbing floors and changing sheets, while I lied on the cool tile floor of the bathroom thinking I would much rather sleep there that deal with the five meter walk back to the bed which seemed like an insane distance at that moment. Yet I, thankfully, have yet to be obligated to return the favor.

    Comment by kim — January 3, 2005 @ 1:42 pm

  3. Very very funny ! What do you propose to do to salvage your karma ?

    Comment by Édouard — January 3, 2005 @ 2:10 pm

  4. That’s so sweet!

    My hub once said he knew I was the woman for him when I uncomplainingly cleared up his vomit (don’t worry, he’s done it for me many times since). And they say romance is dead.

    Comment by Keris — January 3, 2005 @ 5:18 pm

  5. Vomit? From the film reference I thought poo.

    Comment by Claire — January 3, 2005 @ 8:29 pm

  6. I would hate to be accused of giving too much information. But if you must know it was poo coloured vomit.

    Comment by petite — January 3, 2005 @ 9:01 pm

  7. those french guys. they can really turn it on when it matters, can’t they!

    Comment by Sam — January 3, 2005 @ 10:32 pm

  8. Ah. I knew my true love was true when he held my hair back with one hand and held the bucket with the other during a singularly nasty wrestling match I had with a stomach bug.
    Fond memories.

    Comment by Elin — January 4, 2005 @ 1:42 am

  9. Aw. It would have been so beautiful if your secret pet name hadn’t been Fat Arse! Happy New Year p a.

    Comment by backroads — January 4, 2005 @ 6:59 am

  10. Er, maybe he was too wasted to remember the whispering bitchy part?

    Comment by ViVi — January 4, 2005 @ 2:23 pm


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