Donkey Anniversary

A couple of weeks ago, we celebrated our 4^th wedding anniversary. Last year, the fragrance of the evening was Marc Jacobs Blush. This year, it was Repel. We both agreed that we smelled like manure as well.

We generally have used these special occasions as an excuse to splurge on French cuisine or a tasting menu for the gourmand-wannabes that we are. So this year, we headed out to “Hotel Darling" for a classy rooftop dining experience populated mostly by men in droopy bow-ties (and mustached, of course). We think that these men were waiters because they took our dinner order and brought food, but for the most part they lurked off to the side and stared at us in earnest as we ate. As de rigeur, we pleaded for “no spicy!!” but were rewarded with red hot dishes that still tasted like fire. The two liters of water that we each drank was a big mistake on my part, because I knew that if I removed my sari I’d be left with a confusing bundle of silk that I couldn’t tie back on, and would be forced to skulk back to the table in the pajama bottoms that I wore underneath.

The best part of the evening, though, was on the ride home. As our rickshaw careened through Vellore's bustling streets lined with people burning trash or selling street food by the light of oil lamps, we saw a few donkeys in the road. Not an unusual sight at all, but this time, on our fourth anniversary, there were four donkeys each walking behind another in perfect formation across the road. One donkey for every year – we’re not sure what it meant, but it felt like a formidable and favorable omen. The only thing that would have made it more remarkable was if each donkey were performing a quadruple axle in a flowy Brian Boitano shirt.

By the way ... did we ever talk about the time when Alex wore an oversized silk shirt tucked into my leggings for a Brian Boitano Halloween costume?