So I bought a wedding dress.
It's very strange buying a dress a size too big just knowing that I am going to get even bigger before the day. I thought brides were supposed to lose weight with nerves and do some sort of lemon juice diet in the weeks leading up to their wedding. It all feels slightly backwards.

Do you know what happened the other day in an entirely unrelated story? Well, I was helping Welsh do a letterbox drop of flyers for his building business. Because I don't work, I get quite excited by these outings. I print up the flyers, trim them, put them in a special little bag. I keep track of how many I have printed and the locations that we are dropping them in as though i am going to commit the information to a pie chart or something for the next board meeting. I obsess over the graphics, the wording, the font, and if Welshy dares question why I have failed to include half the information he wanted on them, then god damned it, he gets a lecture on aesthetics and a pretty balance of letters being of paramount importance.
One of the many strange things about this country is that people don't have letter boxes. How weird is that? Everyone has little slots in their front doors that you push the letters through. And also, in our village, if we are not home to get a package, then the postman just takes it to Welsh's parents farm. Remind me not to do any online shopping at Ann Summers.
So, the other day we were posting some flyers. Some people have like this weird brush stuff inside the slots to stop the wind coming in. Or something like that. So you really have to push your hand through to get the paper through the gap. We delivered about a hundred and were doing the area that Welsh's grandma used to live in. The sun was shining, he was telling me a story about how he stayed with his nana as a teenager and snuck out the window one night. The neighbours called the police and he got in big trouble. I was laughing.
Then i stuck my hand in a letterbox slot and a fucking dog bit my finger.
I went in to shock.
I am secretly half scared of dogs. I've been bitten so many times. They seem to like me. The worst time was when my aunty's dog bit me on the face.
Bite mark bruises started appearing on my finger. I tried not to cry.
"Let's do this street, then a few around the corner." says Welsh.
Are you fucking serious? A DOG just BIT me. I am never putting my hand in a letter box again. Apparently they don't have rabies in this country but Welshy may have just been saying that to make me feel better.

Then last night the phone rang. A woman left a message enquiring about getting some garden fence put in. Garden fence to stop her dog getting out. Her vicious dog. I checked the address. Correct, it was the same house, same letter box slot, same dog. So Welsh will find out once and for all if I am just a massive wimp or if he is an under reactor. I tell you what though, that dog had better be something bigger than a Shih tzu or I may never live it down.