It was a beautiful bright red dress that had done the rounds for many a pregnant friend, and now, it was my turn. I was well into my nine months, and wearing it well.
We coupled in through the side door - that is the front door of my OH's grandparents' house, and were swiftly greeted as we arrived.
Simon's Granddad came striding towards me, particularly agile that morning. Especially for a man of his ninety-something years. No doubt our impromptu visit had lifted spirits, and put a spring in his step.
I hung back a little, preparing myself for the smacker of a kisserooni I knew would be placed directly on my lips. It happened every time. It was something I'd gotten wise to. You see he would hold both my arms, locking me still, so he could welcome me just so.
I don't think it was anything other than a loving welcome... although I could never be sure.
I usually managed to flip my neck at the last minute and proffer a cheek, (I find it weird kissing my parents on the lips, so you can imagine how it made me feel).
This particular morning, he came right for me. Maybe it was the red dress. Maybe it was simply a matter of expressing his joy? All I know is he got me good and proper. For going to get my arm, he missed entirely and squeezed hold of a handful of bosom instead. I was so shocked, he even got the smacker on the lips. Bloody hell Granddad!
P.S. There are fleeting moments when I realise I miss being pregnant; the movement of a limb within for one, and, managing to pull off wearing a red dress for two. For it was definitely my bump that carried that off, not me.
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