Love stories are so dull. And they’re all almost exactly the same.
Girl meets boy. Girl and boy decide to go to Ireland together in August. Girl realizes boy is bat shit insane. How many times can you hear this story before rolling your eyes and thinking “this again?”
In case it’s new to you, I’ll tell you what happened so you can see my predicament.
A few weeks before we’re supposed to go to Ireland together, he starts this Q&A with me about whether or not I suffer from jet lag when I travel across multiple time zones at the speed of light. Or maybe at a speed of an airplane. So I say “yes” because I’m at the stage of the relationship that I like to call “honesty”. I can’t wait for that stage to be over so we can move into the much more satisfying “mind fuckery.” That’s when he asks you anything at all, like “do you suffer from jet lag?” and you respond with a “what the fuck is that supposed to mean, asshole?!”
I know what you’re thinking and I don’t know how I remained single this long either.
So I say “yes, I suffer from jet lag being a person and all” and it’s like this is the answer he’s been waiting for his whole life.
“I will cure you of this jet lag!” he announces and I immediately get very excited because I figure drugs are involved and who doesn’t love drugs?! If you’ve seen those “this is your brain on drugs” fried egg commercials from the 1980s, you know how delicious they can be.
Anyway, so now I’m excited that I’m going to Ireland with a lot of drugs but he sort of reads my mind and kills my hopes and dreams with a blunt “no drugs” blow to my happiness.
“What the fuck?” I ask, moving seamlessly into a new and exciting stage of our relationship.
And then he says a lot of crazy shit.
Like for ten days before the trip, we have to go to bed two hours earlier and get up two hours earlier in preparation for jet lag avoidance.
Because I haven’t been freebasing heroin for the past ten years, this makes no sense to me. It’s not like jet lag is the leading cause of death among people landing in Dublin.
“What the fuck?” I ask, settling into the new and exciting stage of our relationship for the foreseeable future.
And he explains that if I do this waking up two hours early for ten days before the trip, by the time I land in Ireland, I will be refreshed like a daisy or some other flower known for its freshness and feminine hygiene product reference.
“But won’t I be exhausted for the ten days that I’m waking up at 5?” I asked, cocking my head adorably to the side.
We were talking on the phone, so the adorableness was totally lost on him, as was logic and reason, apparently because he said “no.”
So I made an executive decision. I am not going to do this go to bed at 6 pm and wake up at 4 am nonsense. I am going to keep to my regular sleeping schedule and hope for the best in Ireland. I’m sure they won’t mind tinkering with their national clock to suit me.
I’ll keep you posted.