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Why Mr Dreamy is dreamy

My mum and I were discussing where I draw the lines between privacy and strict reality on my blog.  What I write about me here is true, but it’s not the whole picture.  It can’t be: the whole picture of my life involves so many other people, and they also have to be able to choose how much of their life goes on the internet.

My mum noted that the only thing I really say about Mr D on the blog is that I think he is dreamy.  (awwww…)

I didn’t really put together exactly what she was saying in this statement for a long time.

Not even when my sister, the Naiad, mentioned that of course she didn’t read my blog, “you call your husband Mr Dreamy on it!” (insert suitably little sister-esque gagging sounds here).

Nope, it took someone calling me ‘The Dreamstress’ out loud in front of my sister, and then mentioning ‘Mr Dreamy’ in the next sentence for her to realise that he is Mr Dreamy because I am the Dreamstress, and for me to realise that my mum and sister had thought that I was calling my poor, put-upon husband an icky-cutesy pet name on my blog!

So yeah, ‘Mr Dreamy’ is not the same as me calling him ‘Mr Smoochy ickle-pookie kins’!  I don’t have that kind of blog!  At least I hope I don’t have that kind of blog!  If I start mentioning that things are ‘totes adorb’ then I might have crossed the line…

Mr D is Mr Dreamy because it works well with my online identity.

He is dreamy though. 😉


Come on a walk in Wellington

I went for a long, long walk a few weeks ago, and this is what I saw:

A pink lady trying to pretend that winter won't come

A cave-garage carved into the hillside

A cruise ship heading for sea among a flotilla of sailboats

Red red berries against a (differently) red brick wall

Clay rocks that look like art

A random carpentry table sitting by the side of a busy road

A bilingual sign

Some shellfish clinging to rocks

Rocks covered in the footprints of a hundred thousand shellfish that cling no more

Santa Clause in a speedboat, monitoring a sailboat race

A red-beaked shorebird searching for his dinner

A bucket. Some poor walrus somewhere is having a bad day.

An airplane rising into the wide blue yonder

A big boat, and a lonely seagull

A long, long pier, with some not-so-lonely seagulls and fairy terns

Some brilliantly coloured native grass