Brian and I finally got married and we headed out on our honeymoon. Brian's parents had paid for a fortnight at a big resort which was very kind of them. The very first morning at the resort I discovered that an endearing habit in a fiancé is not nearly so endearing in a husband.
Brian likes to go for an early morning run, happily trotting along for an hour or so. Good healthy exercise in his opinion. A waste of good sleeping time in mine. Still, I'm a good sport. I went out with him on that first morning, finally staggering home to swear a solemn oath - never again.
Brian thought I was kidding and woke me the next morning, assuming that I'd really be delighted to go for a run. I disillusioned him in short order. If he'd suggested another sort of exercise, one that didn't involve getting out of bed, I'd probably have been in it, but running? Stuff that for a joke.
I was somewhat irritated to find that I was now wide-awake. I tried to snuggle back down in the bed but I was no longer in the mood. I finished up hopping up and going for a shower. I dried off and wandered back to the bedroom and was standing there in the altogether, trying to decide what to wear. That's when it happened.
The bedroom door burst open and a giant was standing there, bellowing at me to get a move on or we'd be late. I just froze to the spot, face burning, looking at the intruder. He was at least six foot tall and looked as broad as the doorway, and none of it was fat. He was pleasant looking with a happy smile and blonde hair. As he stared at me the only thing that changed was that his happy smile sort of dribbled off his face. I think I heard a faint splat as it hit the floor.
"You're not Mick," he accused me.
