See that? That's what happens if you foolishly open the Valentine's chocs when the boys are around.
Gone in five.
Sam asked me how me and his Dad met.
"Well," I said, and gave him the abridged version.
The unabridged version happened thus:
It was the usual; we met in a nightclub in Bath. I was out with my friend, her fella and some very strange dude that he had bought along. I think he was meant for me, but we got off to a rocky start when he grabbed hold of my leather jacket and accused me of murder.
Anyway, we were sat near the dancefloor, when Jo nudged my arm. "Look over there," she said and pointed to this lad walking towards the bar. We looked at each other and laughed. "9.9!" we cried in unison, as the rather handsome - sort of Hugh Grant looking - lad disappeared into the crowd. And that was that.
The evening got worse. By now Jo's fella's friend was sat down in the middle of the dance floor. Rocking to and fro. He may have been in terrible inner turmoil, but I was only twenty three and just felt really pissed off with the silly boy. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked round. It was the 9.9. "You look bored," he said. Lame, I thought. Then he smiled. And that was that.
I honestly can't remember much more about the night, because I was very drunk. But I'll admit to waking up in the morning in my friend Jo's spare bedroom with a rather handsome young man beside me. Jo's Mum was furiously vacuuming on the other side of the door. I looked up and saw the Mr Men lampshade staring at me, Mr Tickle winking. Dear Lord. I bought him home. To my friend's house.
Jo's Mum kindly gave him a lift to the station. He gave me his number. I gave it back with mine written on it. "I won't ring you," I blurted. I wouldn't have dared. In the cold light of day I felt rather embarrassed. It wasn't normal behaviour for me, I can assure you. We hugged and off he went. And that was that.
Or so I thought.
He did ring, and left a message with my sister. She had written his number down, but wasn't sure if she got the last digit correct. I bit the bullet, and rang every different combination I could. No joy. Then a few days later Marc rang again. This time he spoke to my Mum. "Oh she'll be so pleased you rang," she gushed "She's been trying all sorts to get hold of you." Aaaargh. My cool cover blown.
He invited me for a meal in Bath. I took my pyjamas. He made me a bacon sandwich in his Uni flat. Washed down with a bottle of beer. We went out and got tipsy. Laughed a lot. Kissed a bit. I missed the last train home to Bristol. Thank God for the nightwear.
We got married in 1996, had Sam in 1997, Alfie in 2001 and Pops in 2010.
We've been busy.
I love him very much.
Please don't hold the Hugh Grant thing against Marc. Or me for that matter.