Let’s talk about Gypsies. They’re so in these days what with My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding on television and the movie Knuckle (think Brad Pitt in Snatch but not nearly as cute), and even I’ve talked about them some like this time, and this one, and here too what with The Husband being in with them and all (but it has been awhile since I’ve talked about The Gypsy hasn’t it? That’s because he’s had a baby, and it’s a girl, little baby girl gypsy, so that’s why all has been quiet on The Gypsy front).
The thing is, I’ve always felt an affinity for Gypsies. Maybe it’s because my father used to tell me that he found me as a baby on the doorstop after a band of Gypsies had left me there, or it could be because I share my name Sara with St. Sara, the patron saint of the Gypsies (or maybe the Gypsies had already named me that and my dad just went with it… Mom, now is the time to come clean).
And isn’t it a bit crazy that I’ve ended up in the South of France, the home of St. Sara? I think so too. The statue of St. Sara resides in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, and every year gypsies make a pilgrimage to it. I really want to go. That’s it, I’m circling May 24th in my calendar so I can pilgrimage with my people.
And I’m going to let you in on a little secret… back at The Cousin’s wedding (where there were Gypsies galore… they roll in packs you know), we were sitting in the church and The Husband pointed to a girl sitting in the row in front of us and told me that he almost married her.
HOLD UP. WHAT?
This is what went down…
It was about five years ago, and The Husband was staying with The Gypsy for a few days, they were having a drink when The Gypsy’s father came up to The Husband and asked if they could talk. He took The Husband aside, told him that he was a good man, and would make a good husband, and to that effect, he knew of a nice young lady (gypsy lady) who needed one. The Husband thanked him for the offer of a bride but said no thank you. Luckily for me right.
So yeah, The Husband could have been the king of the gypsies.
And get this… because The Husband is super tight with them (obviously if they’re throwing women at him), back when he moved to Dublin, he almost bought a caravan with them so he’d always have a place to stay back in France. Can you imagine?! I could have been Sara in Le Caravan instead of Sara in Le Petit Village.
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