I drank too much the other day.

It wasn’t my fault. Me and husband were supposed to watch THE MARTIAN, but the stupid movie theater was closed for a special viewing of SPECTER (Damn you, Daniel Craig!)

If you think I’m being a total diva here (which I am), let me explain:  Andy Weir, the guy who wrote The Martian, started of as an indie author. That alone means a lot to me.  Also, I LOVED the book, and I was psyched to see the movie. So when that choice was taken from me by fucking SPECTER, I decided to go drinking.

Now here’s the thing: Zurich is expensive as fuck. So we had a few B-52 shots and then decided to head back home, where we could get super drunk for FREE.

Easy choice, really.

We took the train, and sat across from a random Korean guy. Throughout our journey I was babbling stuff, like who would win in a drinking match: hubby or me (he would, of course, but I’ll never admit it openly on the internet), and I also said that if we were dogs, I’d be a chihuahua and he’d be a German Shepherd. According to husband, we talked about a bunch of other stuff I don’t exactly remember because I had gulped two B-52s. That shit’ is real, people.

Anyway, the train arrives at random Korean guy’s stop, he gets up, shakes our hands and says, “You guys are very good, very good together. Great couple, god bless you.” And he leaves.

We never see random Koren guy again (thought this happened only three days ago).

So to my new friend: Sir, I do not know you, but you’re awesome.

Guys, this is the greatest stamp of approval a relationship could get. I was very proud of myself, but let’s face it, husband might have played a small part on that too.


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