The Closest I’ll Get to ‘Sleepless in Seattle’

…as it relates to having great fondness for someone that I have not yet met, is in my budding relationship with the German’s aunt. She is the sister of his mother and has lived in London for 30+ years.
She is a potter, which I always find endearing. We have a number of her pieces in the flat, and I love living with every one of them: smooth soapstone lamps, heavy vases that are always cool to the touch, things in the kind of dove greys and brown blacks that seem warm and sophisticated at the same time.
She writes humourous letters to Tobias, half in English, where she makes fun of herself for being old and plays the kind of little word games that would be intimidating if they were intended for an audience larger than two.
Her husband, now dead, was a psychologist. I think that this encourages either self actualization or patchy hair loss; she seems to have gone with the former.
She sent us tiny mince tarts for Christmas, along with a little bottle of port and a wedge of excellent Stilton. They tasted like maybe she’s fond of me, too.

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