D and I went out to our local Greek restaurant for dinner last night. Talk about a foodie's worst nightmare: it was hard enough choosing things off the menu taking my gluten-freeness into consideration but now? Now it seems like the choice has shrunk to almost nothing. There's feta in everything, for starters, and when my lamb souvlaki turned up it was cooked to perfection, beautifully pink in the middle. I had to swap it with D's dried up pork.
As my best friend pointed out in one of her amazingly supportive emails this week, you have to really like someone to want to swap your truly delicious plate of food with them. I've potentially got another 8 months till I meet the bean and can work out if I like him or her enough to sacrifice a plate of lovely pink lamb. If I wasn't as psychologically sound as I'm pleased so say I am, I'd start compiling a list immediately of all the shit the bean's going to owe me on his or her arrival. So far: 6 boiled eggs and a lamb kebab.