September 24th, 1990

September 24th, 1990

At home, England

Florence just left after a fun night, where we only drank a bottle of wine. Each!

“Tell me again what David said about meeting his family.”

“I’ve already told you twice.”

“I’m just so excited for you,” she said, shaking her fists in the same way a little kid would. “I wonder what they’re like.”

“I’ve seen pictures, they look normal.”

“Oh, Karen love, we look normal. Until,” she motioned to the empty bottles, “you take a closer look!”

“Maybe they don’t drink.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you think you’ll be nervous when you meet them?”

“Probably, I mean, I hope not but, yeah, I probably will.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you.”

“What if they don’t?”

She smiled. “They will. I have no doubt. You’ll fit right in.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s the wine talking,” she laughed. “So, next time you see David will be in Germany, right?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Twelve more days.”

“That isn’t long.”

It is for me.

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