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love, pomegranate

The first time I knew I was really, truly, madly in love with the Other Half was when he patiently put up with me insisting he remove the seeds from a pomegranate by spanking it. 

I needed the seeds to decorate a dish I’d made for a dinner party which would introduce him to my closest friends. I’d read Nigella and that’s what she suggested. In my pre-dinner party stress delusion, I ignored common sense and the lure of pre-picked pomegranate seeds in favour of buying a fresh, whole, fruit.

Instead of calling me a crazed loon, he rolled his eyes, donned a pinny, and picked up a wooden spoon.

And then he spanked said pomegranate til all the seeds fell out, and we couldn’t see for tears of laughter.

He even did the washing up afterwards.

Reader, I’m marrying him.