I’m not going to tell you about last week. From start to finish, it was rough. I mean ROUGH.
And like I mentioned yesterday, I was lucky to have my dear friend Marie-Claire come hang for a bit. It was much needed and much enjoyed.
When she left on Sunday, I grabbed my pool bag and made a bee-line for the Green Hills YMCA pool.
[If you aren’t from Nashville, this may be a phenomenon to you, as it was to me. But the YMCAs here are awesome and they have outdoor pools and everyone goes to them. It’s weird and cool. And super nice to have access to a pool. Because, did I mention?, IT IS HOT.]
And y’all. It is HOT in Nashville right now. So the pool was packed, including many fun friends with whom I was honored to share the water with, though the pool was only about 2 degrees cooler than a nice warm bath.
Emily was there. Laura was there. Allen and Adam joined as well. And after only about 30 minutes in the chairs, we all hopped in the bath pool and circled up and we began to talk.
Now this probably won’t make any sense without further explanation, but I’m gonna try. You cannot possibly know how refreshing and relaxing it was just to bob around in the pool and talk. Worry free. Work free. Drama free.
I loved it.
We talked about relationships, beaches, vacations, and our favorites cities in Europe. Then Adam said, “you know, I think I’m going to live in Europe at some point.”
And I said, “Adam, why don’t we just go ahead and get married and move to Scotland?”
[People. I am less than 30 days from turning 30. I have the right to propose marriage at any appropriate juncture. Do not judge me.]
Adam is cute, funny, sweet, loves God. Really, the only problem is that we aren’t in love and don’t ever plan to be. But then he announces that he wants to live in Europe?!? I can get past the little bump in the road [meaning that we have no romantical feelings at all] if a man tells me he will move me to Europe.
Which, I guess if you want to get “technical,” Adam never offered to move ME to Europe, just himself.
So maybe the proposal was a bit rushed.
Well, no matter. He said no anyways. Something about “it’s not you, it’s me” but we all know that line is as old as the highlands of Scotland.
Thunder rumbled over our heads and the lifeguards [who are easily half my age] insisted we leave the pool AND the pool area completely. Wimps.
So we moved our party to Fido and I sat in my wet swimsuit with a navy blue coverup and ate a berries and cream popsicle.
And I don’t know that my friends know this, but Sunday rescued a part of me.
It was a really great day.
Even if Adam and I aren’t engaged.