When I'm 64...

Will he still need me? Will he still feed me? I'm pretty sure he will. Or I him. We'll take care of each other. We promised to, in front of friends and family and the eyes of God / a very ornate wood carving by Grinling Gibbons.

But will he still tease me? Will I still mock him? I'm thinking specifically of our transatlantic language difficulties. TLOML made much of my 'Penis Texas' moment back in LA. Now he has to make himself understood by British voice-recognition technology, the boot is on the other foot. Much hilarity ensues, as he tries to search for 'Butcher, Hampstead' and is offered 'Cherry Ham Speed'. Etc.

In a misguided attempt to fit in, TLOML is learning Cockney Rhyming Slang. I haven't told him no-one uses it, because I think it's funny when he says things like 'rubadub' instead of pub, especially with his appalling British (/Kiwi) accent.

Yesterday he rounded on me as I suggested we add some sweetcorn to the Korean noodle soup he was doctoring up.
'You know, it's just corn,' he said. 'What do you think, I'll add some sour corn?'
Remembering a link Hemingway Holly had sent me a while ago I retorted,
'Well, it's just horse riding. Not horseback riding. What do you think, people want to ride on the horse's head?'

And so we continue to find apparently endless amusement in each others' funny accents and turns of phrase. Given how much transatlantic cultural cross-semination it's surprising that we ever found it amusing at all. Surely we've watched enough watched enough Friends, Seinfeld, Fawlty Towers that the old 'sidewalk versus pavement' thing is not a novelty. Not so.

And over the three years since we started dating, the amusement factor has not faded one little bit. Now I can't wait to start having kids, so I can raise some little Britishers and teach them to tease their dad's accent. Endless fun.