Debonairs was an amazing restaurant that has opened up three years ago in one of the plush hotels facing the Thames. At night, with the city and the bridge illuminated with thousands of lights, it was a sight to behold. Ever since its opening, my parents have been regular and the elegant lady who manages the reservations was now familiar with them, especially my dad.
It was funny that even after having two grown-up daughters he was still an eye candy. And what was even more funnier, was my mother's reaction to that. Whenever someone would hit on my father, Mom will nonchalantly slip her arm through his and that was it. It was a simple gesture but yet the meaning was very clear : he is mine, stay the f**k away.
I respected and admired the level of understanding and respect my parents h
