I will have met the love of my life. Or one of them, at least. You could say we met online.
I've never met her, I've only seen pictures and she didn't even bother to send me an amusing message. I have no idea how big she is, whether she is grumpy or happy or whether she will like me.
But either way, this time next week she will be (hopefully) ensconced on my lap watching weird Danish detective series. Or she'll be cowering in her crate all scared. I'm hoping for the best, of course. My dream scenario is that Fatty greets Sushi like she's his long lost sister and they have a cuddle.
The likelihood is that he will keep his distance and hiss in an intimidating manner for a while, whereas she will most likely be too terrified to do anything much at all.
I've had some odd reactions to my decision to adopt Sushi. My aunt wonders how I know she isn't vicious and horrible and nasty. The answer, dear aunt, is I don't. I'm taking a punt. I'm trusting some people who have met her and want her to have a home. No one with these chocolate button eyes could be vicious I'm sure. I mean, just LOOK at her.
I can't really explain to these people why I want to bring Sushi over from Romania. Why I don't want her to struggle any more, or not have enough food or have to live on the streets. It's just something that I have to do. And, most importantly, I'm getting a motherfucking dog, yo.
This is the culmination of 20 years of longing. The only thing that has remained constant in my tiny mind over the years is that one day I have to have my own dog. I just have to. I need one.
I can't quite believe this is happening and, until, she has all three paws safely on UK soil and, preferably, in my house, I won't entirely believe it.
One more week in Romania Sushi and then you get to experience the delights of the flooded Isle of Wight with me. I might have to fashion you some tiny galoshes.