Greetings from Londontown!
It’s been about seven months since the last time I was in this glorious city, and it’s good to be back. I’m currently just visiting so that Leo and I can handle some visa stuff, but it’s the LAST time I’ll be visiting. That’s right: the next time I come back here, it’ll be for good.
This weekend is bound to be one for the books. The first Snowpocalypse of the year is underway, and an even more monumental event is slated to occur in the coming hours: MY BACHELORETTE PARTY.
That’s right, folks, even the force of nature that is this godforsaken blizzard can’t keep me from taking the train uptown to drink a problematic amount of whiskey and be a basic bachelorette with some of the people I love most. We even have a hashtag. It’s one of THOSE events.
I’ve got the day off work. I’m on my fourth cup of coffee. There’s a tiny bit of snow on the ground, a whole lot of sun in the sky, and there’s raw granola in a jar on the countertop waiting to be snacked on.
It’s shaping up to be a pretty good Monday.
Now that January has officially bitchslapped the holiday season into submission, the crazy reality of what’s to come in this year is starting to sink in. I’ve got two more months in New York City before I pack up and move across the ocean to marry a certain Mr. Breakfast (the artist formerly known as Leo), and I’m excited and overwhelmed and impatient and feeling all of the feelings.
Let me tell you, planning a wedding, even a very small one, is difficult. And I would venture to guess that planning a wedding while you’re thousands of miles away from your partner (and the country you’re getting married in and preparing to move to) is even more difficult. I would imagine that there are visas involved, and tons of paperwork, and booking hotels for guests, and buying plane tickets, and lots of other madness on top of all the standard dress-buying and flower-choosing.
But that’s just a guess. It’s not like I’ve almost pulled my hair out over it or anything (*deep, cleansing breath*).
I wasn’t planning on coming home to Ohio for the holidays. I intended to hop on a plane on December 20, visa in hand, and celebrate Christmas and New Years with Leo in London. We would handle some icky visa-government-boring things that we have to do in order to get married and spend Christmas with Leo’s family, eating mince pies and drinking tea.
Then life happened.
My visa didn’t arrive in time for me to travel to London for the holidays. I panicked for a hot second, but Leo calmed me down pretty quickly by booking a plane ticket to Ohio and telling me he’d meet me at my parents’ house. Just like that, we were having a very Midwestern Christmas.