ISN'T SHE LOVELY | hs

8 | SOMETHING'S STARTED

French translations have been posted in the comments! Sorry if any are wrong — I tried my best!

Enjoy and merci xx

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| MICKAYLA |
Friday 28th August, 2022

"Harry, how do you say 'I'm absolutely fucking shit-faced' in French?"

With his arm slung over my shoulder as we stagger our way through the Louvre, Harry grins down at me, "Je suis un ange ivre et magique."

"Je suis un ange ivre et magique!" I yell out, earning loud laughter from Harry and a few dirty looks from other patrons. Both things make me grin and giggle.

Harry and I have been in Paris for a little while now, arriving mid-afternoon today after a six hour drive. Once settled into our swanky hotel and changed from our travelling clothes, we made a pit stop to drop off the finished painting to the client — which Harry spent thirty minutes gawking at because he was so impressed with it — I got paid, and then we did what any two adults who are spending a weekend away in another country would do.

We started sight-seeing and got wasted.

The reason for our drunken ways is because we've decided to take a mini break from IUI. Harry and I have been really good these last two months in terms of eating right, avoiding alcohol and being generally healthy, but we deserve a moment to rest and treat ourselves.

With that in mind, the pair of us have consumed enough cheese that'd impress a certain cartoon mouse, and have drunk enough wine that we probably shouldn't have been allowed into such an esteemed establishment. I'm still yet to have a cigarette, but the holiday is really only just beginning.

We paused our sight-seeing expedition for a bite to eat and accidentally polished off a bottle and a half of Malbec with full intentions of heading to the Eiffel Tower once done, only that's no longer happening now. Harry had the idea that we should go to the Louvre tonight and the tower tomorrow.

"You're an artist, Micki. We need to go to the Louvre immediately." He slurred as he paid the bill, "Need to see how shit the art there is in comparison to yours."

I cackled and blushed at that, but didn't disregard his comment or suggestion. I know I'm good and I know I wanted to go to one of the world's most famous galleries, so that settled that. No arguments from me. I don't think Harry and I would ever have one. We seem to agree on everything.

The same thought can be applied to the suggested IUI break. I took the news of the second unsuccessful insemination harder than I expected, as hard as Harry did the first time, and that seemed to be enough for him to suggest we cool off and collect ourselves a little bit before continuing. I agreed happily.

I really am glad we're taking a pause from the insemination. As much as I'm desperate for the procedure to work, as desperate as Harry is, it's an emotional journey. It's something that I didn't expect, the optimism that I always try to have convinced that it would've been a one date with the turkey baster and then pregnant kind of deal, but that's been the furthest thing from the truth.

It's not just the IUI process that's made me emotional, either. Opening up to Harry about my relationship with a certain band and some memories their music typically conjures up left me feeling icky. It's rare for me to experience bouts of sadness having always been a happy-go-lucky kind of person, and I'd had two particularly hard doses of it in the space of twenty-four hours.

But Harry, my saving grace, truly came through in fixing that. He turned off the music. He spoke beautiful words and gave me gorgeous flowers. He made me a delicious lunch. He suggested a walk and a swim in the rain; my favourite weather kind and two of my favourite activities to do. He made me laugh and let me win the race. He made me physically fly as we reenacted that Dirty Dancing moment in the water.