Unexpected

 It was our anniversary. Well, no, it wasn't. That's the ninth of November, but Susan will be in England looking after her parents on the ninth, so we celebrated early. 

It's been fourteen years since I met Susan and I was in a bad way at the time. Grieving, drunk, walking for miles everyday just to tire myself out because I could never sleep. I thought my life was over. And then I met Susan and, fourteen years on, I'm still alive, we're still together, and we laugh like fools every day. The walking has tailed off a bit. 

It was with this in mind yesterday, in Margaux, a fairly ludicrous bar with tapestries of tigers all over the walls, and a little nook decked out like a souk, that I made a toast: "Here's to fourteen years of unexpected bliss!" Texas Sun by Khruangbin and Leon Bridges was burbling gently in the background, accenting the background noise. There was a look of mild consternation on Susan's face as our glasses met, a slight creasing of the brow. Some inkling twitched at the corners of her mouth. 

"Piss?" she said. 

"What?"

"Piss?" 

"BLISS!" I said. 

She was already starting to crease into silent laughter. 

"Did you really think that my romantic anniversary toast would be "Here's to fourteen years of unexpected piss?"

We were both hooting with laughter now, tears raking our cheeks. Howling. Neatly coifed silvery heads were turning toward us, lips were pursing. We were making a noise in a chic drinking establishment. The staff were already annoyed that I'd flouted their table service. Now we were laughing out loud. We were enjoying ourselves. Would a bouncer have to be deployed? We didn't care. The idea that my idea of a romantic toast would be 14 years of unexpected piss, which Susan accepted at face value, coupled with the fact that, at our age, the next fourteen years might well be copiously sprinkled with unexpected piss, made us howl. We were still shoulder shaking and glitter eyed as we left for dinner, a dinner we continued to laugh through. Nobody minded there - it was less up its own arse. 

Life isn't just horror. There is a lot of it, but sometimes, very rarely, life brings you Susans. Cling to them.