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Guinness, Hallway Wanderings, and Irish Music

The weekend was a blur.

Saturday morning Mr. Y, Emily and I get up at oh-God-hundred and head for Heathrow, to catch a flight to Dublin. It's early in the morning, I'm pissed off about another fight with my family, we all need coffee, and we sit around waiting in a crowded waiting area for our flight. And we wait. And wait. And flights after ours are leaving, but ours still doesn't have a gate. Mr. Y goes to the business lounge to ask what's up, and as he does, I see a gate number flash on the screen. I ring him.

"It says Gate 82." I say, looking at the screen.
"Well, the lady here is telling me it just took off."
"But it says Gate 82 here." I reply dumbly.
"Can you walk to the gate and see what's up?" he asks.

I hang up and walk to the gate, and Emily waits between the two of us. Once at the gate, I realize something has gone horribly wrong.

"Are you on this flight?" Attila the Hun barks at me, annoying boater hat askew.
"Yes, there are three of us." I reply, dazed.
"You have to choose. Do you fly alone or do you all miss the flight?"
"What?" I ask.
"Decide!" she barks.
"Hang on a minute!" I yell back, annoyed at this sudden Sophie's Choice of the airline world. "We've been waiting forever and you've only just announced the gate in the boarding lounge! This isn't our fault!" I flip open my phone and call Mr. Y. "Gate 82! RUN!" I shout into it.

Attila and I are in a battle of the wills, and I can only hope that Emily and Mr. Y run like the wind. They do, and make it just in time, so all three of us troop to the last row of the plane, doing the walk of shame like we held up the plane, when we really hadn't.

It started off well. Luckily, we were able to recover quickly-Dublin was lovely and calm, the weather holding rather well and cooperative. We made our way through the city, stopping for periodic pints, and of course having a grin at the Temple Bar. I introduced myself to the drink that is Guinness, and although I think we can be good acquaintances, I really think it's a limited friendship.

Saturday night we went to various diddly-diddly pubs, drinking and talking to people. Emily talked a lot to the musicians (who seemed thrilled that someone knew actual traditional Irish songs instead of just 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling'), while Mr. Y and I talked to people around us-we got to know a nice Finnish couple, a Norwegian family, an older couple from Chicago on a golfing tour, and I spent some time talking to the Spanich bodhran player. You know. Cause they have masses of those.

And somehow, we all wound up getting pretty drunk.
After 8 pints or so.
So maybe it's no big surprise that we got drunk.

It was a late evening, and we weaved our way into the hotel. Mr. Y and I hit the bed, took our clothes off, and I brushed my teeth and took my contacts out. As I finsihed up, I opened the bathroom door and saw my lovely, lovely naked boy standing there.

"I'm just going to go to the toilet." he said, and then walked out of the room.
I ran after him, opening the door, as he was standing confused halfway down the stairs.
"Honey!" I call. "The toilet's in here!"
"Ah!" he says, and comes back in the room.

We hit the bed and sleep soundly all night.

Sunday was a nice day spent walking around the city and touring the gorgeous and artistic Guinness factory. It was a nice and relaxing day, and in the end we had a nice quiet meal and not too much to drink-thankfully, otherwise you could wring us out and use us to clean surgical instruments.

I come home to some good news-Luuka is misbehaving already at Eric's place. That bear is unbelievable. She's such a ho, she really is.

Secondly, there is a present waiting for me, of a book I have been dying to read. It's from Goldie, who is fantastic and I am so glad she is writing again. She's been missed. Thanks, babe!

And last, but far from least...Mr. Y and I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon. Four p.m. to be exact. He even told someone on the phone earlier that he's unavailable this afternoon as he has a doctor's appointment. The truth is, I doubt the doctor will be snapping on rubber gloves and checking him out, but he will maybe be doing so to me.

It's our first visit to an IVF consultant, to learn more about our options.
It's a big thing.
Honest.

-H.

PS-if you can-with IVF/baby stuff...well, it hurts a hell of a lot, actually. So if you like me just a bit, please can we continue on the no-advice route? By all means, whistle your support or tell me a joke...just remember that it is an amazingly sensitive area.

Thanks.