Before you go calling the cops and a counsellor for me, I'd just like to confirm for those who haven't worked it out that I love Donny. He's The One. My soulmate. All of the other tacky descriptions under the sun that you can think of. Sure, it's a problem that needs addressing, but at the moment, it seems to entertain most of the people I know sufficiently.
Not that it really makes a difference, but I'm not one of those stalkers who has the intent of eventually killing my target. The most harmful thing I've ever done to Donny was stealing his recycling bin. Of course, due to bad planning, it turned out to be his neighbour's recycling bin. To make matters worse, he watched from a window in his house while Kirby and I scampered around his cul-de-sac, making way too much noise as we went about our business late one night after a surf at Waihi Beach. Less than 200 metres from his house, we realised it was the wrong bin, so we threw it out the window and drove home. Oops.
It was all in the name of fun, really. You would think riding bikes would keep me occupied to the extent where I don't need to do burnouts outside Donny's house in my car, steal his neighbour's bin, make him extravagant birthday cards, and keep a creepy vigil on his Facebook page, but apparently this is not the case. Even from Bayswater, Auckland, I can keep on top of my little habit.
Still, I got the idea into my head that making him a birthday card - which literally drained me - would be a cure-all for our little predicament. In November of last year I set about creating said masterpiece (pdfs to follow) in preparation for his January birthday. In typical Miriam fashion, five days before the big day, I was up until 4am on Kirby's computer, Adobe Illustrating like I had a deathwish. I had it printed, and was very happy with the final result.
Until after I'd sent it.
That's how, the night before Donny's birthday, I was a hysterical mess, trying to stop crying enough to leave him a voice message to tell him not to read the card. He did. Of course he did. He even kept it - even if it was just to get my number so he could call me at ridiculous hours of the night. Given that Donny is the love of my life, I of course obliged - telling him, ironically enough, that it was in the interest of karma.
Unfortunately, Donny is a jerk and took advantage of my well-meaning ways. When I say it's unfortunate, I mean because he's now afflicted with measles. It's a shame really. I wouldn't want that pretty face to get ruined.
Seriously people, karma is a bitch. Be good to others!
Airport attire, suitable for any good Indian bride?
As it would happen, Donny is returning from India, complete with his measles, tomorrow on SQ281. I've had many thoughts on how to go about his return. The first of which is to ignore it, obviously. There is really no point in my going to the airport. It doesn't take a genius to work that out. HOWEVER, I'm still tempted to do any number of the following:
1. Source the most glamorous sari I can find, get a manicure with my beloved "Lunch At The Delhi" nail polish, and meet him off his flight riding an elephant.
2. As above, but sans elephant, as I just don't see myself finding one, and being allowed to ride it into the International Arrivals hall.
3. Meet him at the hall, complete with sign reading "happy holidays, you bastard". Completely irrelevant, but at least I'll have fun.
4. Arrive early, tie a banner to the rails on the sides of the arrival gate saying "Karma's a bitch", then leave before he gets through customs.
5. Hire a wedding dress, dress Miranda and Sulva up as bridesmaids, and propose as he walks through the sliding doors.
Okay, this is getting stupid. The last one was a spur-of-the-moment idea anyway, inspired by a riverside walk with Sally last year ("be mine!" haha).
I don't think I'll go anyway. I don't want his dirty Indian measles.
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