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Saturday, April 16, 2011

Floral language

Well, Ploggers, I can only apologise for yet another absence.  It seems multitasking work and Plogging is a skill I need to work on since returning from holiday.  Either that, or being married is far more time-consuming than being single.  I'll let you know.

Anyway, more honeymoon stories for you.  Today I am going to tell you about the romantic night we spent at Shamwari.  Shamwari is apparently the place to go to in the Eastern Cape for safari.  All the film stars go there.  Of course, it was massively out of our price range, but TheBloke (TM)'s sister works there (why do you think I married him?) so we were in!

Because TheBloke (TM)'s sister is much nicer than TheBloke (TM), she arranged for complimentary Champagne to be delivered to our room.  So when we returned from our evening game drive, our room looked like this:

Our bed had been lovingly scattered with fresh blossoms, arranged in rows of two different colours.  Our pillows had a single blossom on each, and there was a bottle of chilled Champagne, with a congratulations note from Rippons Lodge, where we were staying.  It was so romantic.  The Bloke (TM) lit some candles, and took a bath together with a glass of bubbly each.  It was a fantastic way to relax after a game drive where we'd seen warthogs play, zebras canter and lions on the prowl for their evening meal.

I needed to wash my hair, so TheBloke (TM) got out of the bath and toddled off to put on his manly, manly clothes.  Suddenly I heard a giggle from him.  I knew it was his giggle because he was the only other person in the hotel suite.  However, had I not known this, I would have guessed it was the giggle of a nine year-old schoolgirl.

"What?"  I called from the bath.

"Nothing," he called back, giggling again and thus giving himself away.

"What?!" I asked.

"I just thought of something."

"What?"  I am nothing if not repetitive.

"Nothing," TheBloke (TM) giggled.

TheBloke (TM) would not be drawn, and instead I just heard a lot more giggling, and then - worryingly - the sound of him taking photos.

I got out of the bath, wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and went to see what fresh naughtiness he was up to.  This is the sight that greeted me:

Who said the romance dies when you get married?

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