Yesterday morning, I went to the doctor to get my blood test done. Kat and I woke up at 6:30am and did a great job at not falling asleep again; instead, we put our clothes on and left the house around 7am, took a bus and less than half an hour later, we were in the reception room waiting for my turn.
The nurse, a man in his mid-fifties, asked me where I was from and how long had I been in Denmark. I told him I was from Venezuela (that immediately brought up a little discussion about Chávez and I made sure to let him know what a tremendous son of a bitch, goddamn motherfucker he was) and told him I had been in the country for a year and a half. He asked me if I was getting married to which I replied that indeed, marriage was a possibility, at some point, but that at the moments there were no solid plans to tie the knot.
However, I did pointed out I had a Danish girlfriend, a piece of information that for some reason encouraged this man to say: “who knows, maybe you will find another girlfriend. A better one.” A better one? Pfff. Clearly, this man has not met Kat and doesn’t know me; the chances of a short, grumpy old man like me scoring with a smart, funny, younger green-eyed scandinavian blonde are almost non-existent. Kat is, by far, the greatest partner I have ever been with and she would have kicked his ass if she had been in that same room with me, just for the fun of it. I would have loved to see that.
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Spent all evening writing my UK visa application, going through tons of papers, trying to answer to all the questions in the document as accurately as possible. Went to bed around midnight, slightly upset and with the application still incomplete…