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"the ground here is made of stars"
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Well, and much to my unending delight and surprise, my beloved J.N. will be coming to visit me this summer. If we end up going to Vegas and getting hitched, it’s all part and parcel of the man that he is. Of course, if you hear about us skipping town to go to a Bogota nightclub, that shouldn’t faze you either. Because between both of our enormous Sinatra record collections and similar fondnesses for the finer luxuries, we’re really quite the sparkling, spontaneous couple.
People are always taken a bit aback by how far-flung my friends are. I can’t very well help it, especially when they’re all vagabonds at heart and can’t seem to stay in one place for long. Of course, they’re convenient excuses to travel places, and although he will be flying in from Heathrow to Houston, I’m making a similar jaunt from Dallas to Sydney in a year’s time. Such is the life of the jet set.
This, of course, is not without its problems. We both have an uncanny knack for attracting the attention of immigration officials: he with his multiple passports and driver’s licenses; I with my dual citizenships and unfathomable looks. I’ve had people mistake me for four different races now, and it gets a bit tiresome explaining why I can’t speak Spanish or Chinese.
It will really be funny if he decides to marry this brash American girl. Of course, marrying an Englishman is always tres chic for a Stateside girl; his accent can bloody well curl my toes any day.