Yesterday was our anniversary. A gazillion years together, and not nearly enough. We celebrated by going to Ireland for lunch.
The weather cooperated. It was cold and damp, just as an Irish February day should be.
Trinity Hall Pub in Dallas cooperated by looking authentic and warm and welcoming, by having footie on the telly (too bad, Celtics and Valencia, better luck next time) and mostly by having the most divinely delicious lunch we could have asked for. This is pub grub at its finest. Perfectly steamed and seasoned fresh veg that reminds me more of what we’ve had in the UK than here in the US, for example.
The Resident Storm Chaser (my better half) loves pot roast. But he was blown away by the pot roast at Trinity Hall. Rich gravy different from mine, as they evidently use Guinness and fresh rosemary where I use red wine and fresh rosemary. However, I have fresh rosemary outside waiting to be clipped, Newcastle in the fridge, and a grass-fed pot roast, and you know what will be in my oven simmering before the morning is over, don’t you?
Oh yes. You do.
Although it was a fairly busy lunch with groups of fans gathered around both big screens, it was also fairly quiet, perfect for savoring my prime rib, as well. Don’t tell the Resident Storm Chaser because I hate to ever let him be right in this particular ongoing argument, but yesterday, yes, his pot roast was better than my prime rib. Hush. You promised!
And for dessert, a steamed bread pudding in whisky sauce, with dollops of whipped cream on the side and fresh blackberries, blueberries and strawberries ringing the plate. We were already stuffed but we had to share that dessert, and it was to die for. Even if it’s death-by-exploding-innards-that-were-pushed-beyond-capacity.
As trips to Ireland go, I’ve had much worse. And hopefully by the end of 2014 will have had the real thing, but that’s another subject.
Before we left, we mentioned it was our anniversary, that we’d been married so many gazillion years, that I was 17 and he was 19 when we tied the knot. Our server was, to put it mildly, surprised. When she brought back our change, she said, “I have to ask the question. You know that.”
It took a moment, and then I figured it out. “You mean, how did we stay married?”
And she nodded gravely. She really, really was interested.
My answer was not what she expected, certainly not two days before Valentine’s Day.
“We were just too stubborn to give up.”
She looked startled.
The RSD told me later, “I think she wanted you to say something about true love.”
And actually, I think I did. True love isn’t easy. It’s hard. And maybe other people have wiser words to share.
But for two young Scorpios in love, being stubborn was not a bad quality to cling to.
Even if it means we on occasion dig in our heels and are stubborn against each other instead of with each other.
Which is why, seriously, don’t tell the RSD that the pot roast was better.
Even though it was.
Patricia Burroughs and her Resident Storm Chaser are still living their happily-ever-after in Dallas, Texas, a gazillion years after the high school sweethearts tied the knot.
And now you know why she writes romance.
And now you know why she believes in happy endings.