Another hotdog story here.
As some aready know, Blue and I flew to Seattle from the site whose name shall not be spoketh New Orleans bash in 1994 from where we drove up to Vancouver to get married. It was an exciting but oh so nerve wracking time for B/both of U/us - not only had W/we been physically together for the very first time just a few days previously, but all the wedding arrangements had been made by e-mail and phone and with neither of U/us being Canadian, W/we were B/both pretty convinced that somewhere along the line, W/we had got it all wrong and getting married - I mean,
really married - in Canada wasn't going to be quite as easy as it seemed to be.
Anyway, W/we were getting married the next day and had to be in Vancouver by 4 pm in order to apply for the marriage license. W/we thought W/we'd have plenty of time but finding the office took a little longer than expected and W/we arrived there with only ten or so minutes to spare. Walking into the office, W/we were B/both still convinced that someone was about to shatter O/our dream by telling U/us sorry, it just can't be done. W/we were wrong. A few minutes later out W/we walked and, well, that was it ... so beautifully, wonderfully, easy (THANK YOU CANADA!)
It was then that I had the
best meal ever (now that the nerves had settled, I was ravenously hungry, as was Blue) - a huge, cheap old hotdog bought from a convenience store, smothered in ketchup and other stuff that I normally wouldn't touch with a barge pole - sitting with Blue on the edge of the open trunk of O/our van. It tasted divine and though I don't even particularly
like hotdogs, right then, at that moment, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world.
So yeah...hotdogs rawk
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