Thank you for all of the anniversary well-wishes. It was a great weekend. On Saturday night, my parents came and whisked away the ChickieNob and Wolvog for 24 hours of all-out toddler pampering. Josh and I drove down to scary, scary Virginia (hi, Sunny!) to dine in Alexandria. We stopped by our friend's house to play with their daughter who was winding down from her own strenuous toddler day with a little Sesame Street. My back was to the television when I heard the familiar tune "Everybody Eats" start playing. Do you remember it being revolting close-ups of people stuffing food into their mouth? It seriously turned me off to the idea of dinner.
Until we got to Bilbo Baggins. If you live in Washington, or if you are visiting D.C. any time soon, you should go down into scary, scary Virginia and go to Bilbo Baggins. And ask that you be seated in Jim's section because he made our night. We had only been there once before and it was sort of a spur-of-the-moment, pulled-it-out-of-my-arse suggestion: remember that little place we went to 6 years ago...the one that was named after the Lord of the Rings or something like that? Let's drive an hour and go there.
Jim is the greatest waiter of all time. I'm not just saying that because I'm ovulating and weepy and this is my final cycle before our December appointment back at the fertility clinic and that makes me a bit effusive. First and foremost, he steered us towards the most delicious butternut squash soup in the world--and I am not a fan of any type of gourd. Secondly, without even knowing that it was our anniversary or any type of special night, he brought us a second dessert. And it seemed so fitting--first dessert, second dessert (is anyone here with me with the whole second breakfast line from Fellowship of the Ring?). And he was a lot of fun, swinging by our table to talk with us towards the end of the night when all the other customers cleared out. Thank you, Jim, you made our night.
Oh...wait...no, I mean, Josh made my night. You made dinner extra special.
Alexandria had already put up sparkle lights and the main street looked magical. It was the perfect night to be outside.
I once posted a picture of myself on the blog--I think it was around the time of the first movie. Though I was half-constructed in Microsoft Paint. Thank you for the compliments on the wedding picture. It certainly boosted my ego. But I feel, in fairness, like I should post a normal picture too--one where my hair hasn't be straightened for an hour or where I'm not wearing globs of makeup. Normal, everyday Mel. Which means Mel after twenty pounds have been added due to fertility treatments. And a few more lines. And some grey since I'm not sure which route I want to take with hair dyeing. And crazy, messy curls (as Leah, who has met me, pointed out in her comment).
I know my eyes are closed in the top picture, but it's probably the most accurate. My eyes are often squinting. I don't know. My hair is often straight (though never as nicely as Anne did for my wedding) and there are times where I have makeup on my face. But these are a tad more accurate if you want to see what I really look like.
(little voice: I hope everyone doesn't take back the compliments. Perhaps I should only post wedding photos from now on).
After I posted the photo, I wondered if I had ruined my voice somehow. You know how you have an idea of how someone looks as you're reading their blog and then you meet them and it doesn't match up? It has never changed a voice for me, but I could see how it could. Maybe you've always pictured me as a petite blond regardless of any description I've posted. Or maybe in your mind's eye, I'm a six-foot-tall Asian basketball player. Maybe you thought I'd have a much cooler haircut or facial piercings or a tiny tattoo of a piece of food right next to the side of my mouth. Maybe I'm nothing like you pictured me for the past year and a half. And that worries me a bit, that the Melissa in your head has been changed irrevocably because I posted a picture.
It's sort of like when I was reading Harry Potter and Hermione looked one way inside my head and then little Emma Watson came along and ruined that vision for me. Now, when I read the book, I only picture Emma Watson instead of my own buck-toothed, frizzy-haired Hermione.
I hope I still sound the same. Even if I don't look as you imagined.