But I'd be lying if I said the trip didn't offer up its fair share of George and Alix style weirdness. For instance, the day before we flew out was the day that one of The Flus (I dunno, Avian? Swine? Something?) made its major media debut and like EVERYONE on our plane, at the airport, and on the streets of Barcelona was wearing serious face masks and other protective gear. (I was obviously nervously preparing for my imminent demise via The Flu.) Next, I managed to get attacked by an INSANE mosquito in our hotel room that bit my face nine times. N.I.N.E. (and my F.A.C.E.). (I was obviously nervously preparing for my imminent demise via West Nile.) But the weirdest of all, perhaps, was that George proposed. Kind of. The story goes a little something like this:
It was our last full day in Barca and we went back to our hotel room to nap because, well, I'M OLD. Anyway, after a few minutes, I realized that George was sweating profusely and shaking like crazy. I kept asking him what was wrong and he told me he was fine...which I naturally took to mean "I'm fine, but I may be having a heart attack." I started running around the room, looking for a phone, and yelling "WHAT'S SPANISH FOR 911!? WHAT'S SPANISH FOR 911?" when George stood up and screamed "I'M NERVOUS BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU TO MARRY ME!" (The "you idiot" at the end of that sentence was kinda implied.)
So that's our engagement story. No string quartets, no grand gestures, just a guy having a heart attack in a hotel room and a lady with a mosquito-bitten face. Kinda fitting, right?
All of that to say, today we're celebrating our five-year anniversary...Can't imagine having found a better--or weirder--partner with whom to travel through life and the globe! Love ya, G!