When Sara and I burst from the double glazed double doors of B3 – (Blushing Brides to Be) in our, or rather, their, long, wonderful, wholly unaffordable dresses, it’s all giggle and go. We jump unceremoniously into her car and peel away from the kerb like women possessed, leaving the haughty clerk flailing on the sidewalk, calling for us to get back here this instant.

  Fat chance. We just don’t do back. As cliché as you may label us, it’s all about the moment, has been for the last couple of magnificent months. To look back is to live back and who the hell wants to live there when we’re tearing out of the city, hauling ass for once in our slow workaday lives and loving every second of it. God, even thinking of the phrase workaday sets my teeth on edge now. I’ve decided, it’s not part of my vocabulary any more. Or monotonous. Or tedium. They’re all out, banished from my brain. They’re as much culprits as the rest of it and I won’t take it anymore. Neither of us will.

  She’s my saviour and I’m hers. The Thelma to my Louise, perhaps, but we’re not driving off any cliff at the end of this picture. ‘Sides, the jailhouse is as good a place for adventure as any, right?


~ by Joseph Blame on May 28, 2011.

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