Will and I went down to Margaret River for the weekend, to celebrate our six month anniversary. Six months... it feels like it's (largely) come to easily. I didn't realise relationships were meant to come so easily. I didn't realise being with your partner was meant to make six months feel like six weeks. I didn't realise your partner was meant to be your best friend.
But listen to me, I'm sounding like a woman in love. Which is so not me. I'm a cynical feminist critic, for Christ's sakes!
Anyway, so we went down to Margaret River, which is apparently one of the most well-know wine regions in the world. (For those of us who live in that backwater known as Perth, it's a three hour drive. Ah, the old cynicism. I feel better.) We had a good time.
Oh, who the frack am I kidding? I had a great time. Although I'm not sure how much of it was to do with being surrounded by places which supply alcohol, cheese and chocolate (my three favorite things, in that order) and how much of it was being with Will and getting to do stuff with Will which we both enjoyed and getting to sleep in his arms.
Oh, again, who the frack am I kidding? It was all about Will.
So Will, I hope you're reading this. I started this post as an obliging mention of our weekend away that was secretly meant to be a feminist rant and you ruined all my efforts and...
Oh, who the frack am I kidding?
