It's official. I now know how to argue with religious blessing.
Yesterday, Husband-to-Be and I had our wedding session with PadWrap. (Is it ok to give your vicar a nickname? That's his email alias, so I'm presuming he won't be too offended.)
I've heard various tales of trauma from friends forced to discuss the birds and bees with their vicars, couples herded into pre-marriage, weekend-long church courses and embarrassing 'no of course we've not slept together yet' half-fudged conversations with Catholic priests. Our 'lesson', thankfully, was a short afternoon with PadWrap learning how to communicate, listen and argue, sensibly.
The scenarios we discussed I'm presuming (hoping) were written in about 1952. The words 'housewife', 'cooking' and 'when he gets in from work' cropped up more than made me entirely comfortable. Thankfully, given we already 'communicate', the man I'm marrying is already sure, in no uncertain terms, that I don't cook, am only happy to be referred to as a housewife if it's in an ironic manner (and clearly ironic, thank you very much, there should be no room for mis-interpretation) and when he gets in from work I'm usually still at work.
Anyway, the upshot of the whole session is we've decided to install a laundry basket in our bedroom, which will a) stop him going mad when I leave all my clothes on the banister, and b) stop him throwing all the aforementioned clothes down the stairs each evening.
In return for his pearls of wisdom re: laundry baskets, we taught PadWrap the joys of Spotify for hymn choosing. Everyone went home happy.
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