It's Me, Sara Louise

{last summer}

Yesterday was Honey Jr’s 30th birthday, and as such, I thought today was the perfect day for this post. (Obviously yesterday would have been more perfect, but I was busy yesterday. Oh and get this… La Poste managed to deliver the birthday card we sent Honey Jr, yesterday, like on his actual birthday. Gold star for you La Poste.)

I’m sure some of you may have been questioning the absence of Honey Jr lately, and I understand completely. The last time he was mentioned was Gatz’s Raclette party in November. That’s pure poppycock, I know. But here’s the thing, the day after Gatz’s Raclette, Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey left for almost four weeks in Thailand, and when they returned, it was Christmas, and that’s always hectic. January is for hibernating, and in February it was my birthday (which meant a weekend in Châteauneuf-du-Pape and Avignon) and I went to Dublin too, and then voila… it was March. Plus (and you’re going to like this), Honey’s Honey has been down south in Bee School. That’s right… Bee School.

Anyway, we’ve all been busy but of course we’ve been in touch. So a couple of Saturday’s ago, we met in the all new Le Petit Bar for a pre-lunch apéro. We were having so much fun catching up over our drinks, that Honey’s Honey invited us around for lunch.

Honey Jr ordered a poulet rôti from Big Man (on the weekends, Le Petit Bar now sells rotisserie chickens… Big Man is pretty much the opposite of The Parisian and I love him for that), I popped into l’épicerie and grabbed a bottle of Rasteau, and with the bacon and leek pie (tarte aux poireaux et aux lardons) that Honey Jr had already made we were all set. (How great is it that Honey Jr bakes? I wish The Husband would bake. Actually, I take that back. I do not wish The Husband would bake. The mess would be too much for me to bare.)

It felt like old times and I was sad when we left. I was sad that when we walked out their door, we weren’t walking through our old one, right next door, and we didn’t share that wall anymore and the back garden that we had knocked the fence down of so we could all have one big shared one, instead of two separate little ones. I miss that. But as sad as I was, it was nothing compared to how sad Fifty was when when we got home and told him where we had been.