A short while ago, I asked her how she felt about it.
"To be honest, Jazz, " she replied, gently stroking my head, "I'm f***ing terrified."
Now, my partner is NOT a potty-mouth. So, from this, one of two things can be inferred:
- She has developed some Tourette's-type, toilet-tongued condition, which manifests itself in occasional random bouts of foul language; or
- She is genuinely frightened.
I suspect the latter. Either way, I will be there for her - come what may.
Next up will be the concluding instalment of the thrilling tale of my late escapade.