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“Gay Pride” and Prejudice

I've been searching for a gay husband forever. Believe every girl needs and deserves one. They understand that Moët is not alcohol but fully adequate food, Ballerinas are not to be called "shoes", and will watch the American ending of "Pride and Prejudice" with you over and over again. (Yes: they will have handkerchiefs prepared rather than your boyfriends asking: "Are you crying? REALLY???").

My attempt to find someone who could deal with me (aka walking, talking, shoe-hormone bomb) was sadly to no avail until today.
It must have been celebrating Gay Pride past weekend, that I remembered the story when I almost, ALMOST thought I found "The One".
Not only was he looking like Ricky Martin, he was also moving (hip's don't lie) like RM and talking just alike. I checked carefully.
Sensitive? Check. Complimenting my heels and outfit? (More than check: we had a whole discussion about it). Balancing a prosecco more elegantly than me in one hand while pulling a grand gesture with the other? Couldn't be more convinced.
And than: not that I know very much about Mariah Carey: but hell! He did.Super-excited I was. And keen on meeting again. Which luckily happened.
"Hello", he purred: "Sooooooo nice to see you, may I introduce you to my.....GIRLFRIEND?".
Sigh. Apparently my "Gay Pride" is more "Gay Prejudice".

For those who like pink, my heels and miss female body parts: Applications to the usual address please.

xxxToday's shoes are GUESS

Antacids are the new “pink”

“Good morning” shouts my sister,

popping the first bottle of champagne (that’s before breakfast: perfect timing :-))
My brother in law (still in his bathrobe) is frying bacon and eggs for 10 (the inner circle of the family), kids are literally crawling everywhere searching for their easter nests, filled with eggs and sweets, which we adults had so much fun hiding the yesterday night (my memories are a little misty though, so there might have been some other champagne involved).
It’s the second day of celebrating with the family, hardly out of my PJs the rest of the “clan” is arriving, bringing self baked cake and more eggs (god, I will die in Bavaria due to cholesterol overdose). Laughter and immediate chatter fills the room.

It’s the only time of the year (except Christmas) that my only accessories are a kid on one arm and a platter filled with everything God forbids (mostly carbs and sugar) in the other. I couldn’t enjoy it more.

Just like every year, the guys will fight to be the one to cut the giant paschal ham (a late “cave” syndrom I suppose). Just like ever year, the ladies will quickly give in to feeling comfy over looking pretty. And just like every year, we will wonder who ate and drank all the stuff that was prepared.
Well, one thing is certain: we will all suffer the next day. Together.

Antacids are the new “pink”:
Happy Easter everybody!

xxx

Today’s shoes are Guess