Why I Love Sundays With You

I invited you on a date. Formalised the request in a text message. You accepted, and we were all set.
A lazy Sunday morning, then the slow process of getting ready for the brunch date. Fruity smelling shower gels, toes painted in Ruby Red. Freshly buffed skin and aftershave.
On our way...

Arrive at the hotel. Piano being tickled lightly in the background, some tune that I vaguely recognise. We take a table outside under the trees, the sun shining mildly after three weeks of rain. We are the only ones outside. The place to ourselves.

Fresh bread and creamy French cheeses.
We make small talk and smile politely at the waiter.

Marinated sweet and tangy shrimp salad, mussels dressed in chili and sweet peppers.
We discuss how we met.

Smoked salmon and sharp capers, bright and rosy on a stark white plate.
A fruity bottle of wine, crisp and sweet on the tongue.
Giggles and smiles as we reminisce.
The waiter fades into the background.

Juicy dusted kingklip, comforting pea mash, sweet roasted root vegetables.
We discuss our fears, provide reassurance, make plans for a future that seems so certain.
Reflect on how grateful we are for what we have and where we are.

The wine bottle is drained, tuned upside-down in its bucket of melting ice.
You know me so well. You know that dessert is just a gluttony that there is no space for.
You laugh and predict that I will be asleep within the hour. I smile dreamily.

We settle up and leave. Drive home through the warm lunchtime sun.
At home, I drift into a welcoming layer of sleep before the DVD has even started. The type of sleep that has been escaping me for a few weeks.

You are a perfect date. I really like you.
Let's do it again real soon...