I envisaged a rather romantic goodbye from my family and boyfriend on our trip to the airport. Leaving for my flight to Madrid for the year, I wanted tears, heartbreak, and a little slice of somewhat unnerving breakdown.
My Dad dropped me off at the five minute departure zone and asked if I wanted anyone to come with me.
Letting that sentence speak from itself, my mother and boyfriend were rudely alerted that they needed to accompany me after realising I had in fact been dropped of at the wrong terminal- my doing, as per normal. With ten minutes of check in time remaining before my flight, I blubbered underneath my optics whilst my mother carried my suitcase. I awaited outside the garish orange easyjet sign- I should have known all that was novel had died then- when I got a long hug of my Mum, and five swift kisses off my boyfriend ranging from motherly peck to a touch of the cheek, WITH NO WATERWORKS WHATSOEVER. I gazed into their eyes. Mum had ill-timedly decided to have her tears back home when we were all trying to eat a nice bun, whilst my boyfriend didn't utter any emotional semblance whatsoever. Wondering if my loved ones were clones, I rang my mother after making it to the check-in gate in one piece for her to lie and tell me Joe had been in hysterics all journey. It seems I know where the real acting comes into play.
Slightly dishearted by our mutually weak reaction, I bought an overpriced salad and lunged towards the gate, determined to run and barge in a non-British manner, only to realise I was flying solo. Making a rather bathetic stop at the back row, I deprived a middle-aged man of the right to fly to next to his partner on a romantic trip to Madrid, and spoke and spoke about university, moving to another country and trashy magazines. I quickly learnt that he slightly resented university students, and especially me because I refused to give him peace and quiet for the remaining two and a half hours. I must remember not to pack my in-flight novel into my actual suitcase next time.
Awaiting inside the airport was my other half, Christine. I say other half, because since our friendship has endured me picking my nose, me getting up way too late, me having no sense of directional skill whatsoever, and her awful skill of buying really nice clothes. Our womance has shared a claustrophobic room, awkward Spanglish moments and a decent amount of alcohol. Finally secure in our much-desired apartment, we are perplexed as to how two people who chat to each other fourteen hours of the day could possibly live with an anti-social rabbit killer. Okay, that is perhaps harshly worded, but factually correct. A foreign masters Genetics student, the girl shares both an enviable command of Spanish and English, which we deduced from the one conversation we have had from her. After her avidly detailing her various skills as a rabbit murderer- despite protesting that I was a vegetarian- she has retired to her room, complete with strange electro sounds and world of warcraft (actually seen by self).
And on the job front? Give me another week. I have written about too many beautiful women to have a shred of self-confidence. I am currently compiling a list of "women who need to be kept away from the rest of humanity so the rest of us have a chance." Well, that's a nice way of putting it. The actual title is "women who need to be quickly shot to give the rest of us the chance."
Must abandon awful right-wing rags and go back to lovely, left-wing intellectualism.
... either way I sound like a bit of a twat.