Guess what my aunt made us for breakfast this morning: a British-style tea party complete with homemade scones and crème fraiche and get this—lemon curd. Always the polite guest, Dr. Fiancé spread some curd on his scone as directed, and proceeded to declare it delicious. I shared my cake quandary with the table, telling my relatives about Dr. Fiancé’s aversion to the word “curd.” Everyone pitched in with alternatives: lemon spread, lemon cream, lemon delight, lemon surprise. My teenage cousin looked up a French translation online and proceeded to mangle a phrase that sounded like “coffre beurrehgh.” Not much of an improvement. I tried to read Dr. Fiancé’s face throughout the conversation to see whether he truly only minds the name of lemon curd, or if he truly doesn’t like the taste. The answer remains unclear.
In other news, I keep going to the bathroom every 20 minutes to see whether my period has started. It hasn’t. Weird. Very weird.