The Trip To Rome, Part I (of XXX)

I was going to do one of those I’m Right, You’re Wrong posts, but some things are so obviously right and the Guy I went to Ireland With is so obviously wrong, that I didn’t want to insult your intelligence. Also, I couldn’t figure out how to write it, given the details to be revealed below.

My Side:

Last week the Guy I went to Ireland With and I went to Rome. Obviously he’s considering hyphenating his name to The Guy I went to Ireland With-Rome, but then he’ll have to get all his towels re-monogrammed.

Because of the mad rush to the airport of 2014, we agreed that I am the party best suited to take care of all airport arrangements since I have a keen sense of time management, am a wonderful person and have a certain je ne sais quoi, although I don’t know what exactly.

Everything went according to plan. We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare and after checking in, settled in the airport lounge. We smiled at each other, exchanged the customary pleasantries about how wonderful it was to be going away together and how much we were looking to spending the week together (although I silently added “with pasta” after each “together”) and read. He read the newspaper and I read my Kindle. This is one of those sentences that adds absolutely nothing to the story, but I like to throw it in anyway. Also, this is as good a time as any to mention that I don’t understand people who don’t read on the Kindle. “I like paper books,” they say, and although I applaud their having moved on from cave etchings and papyrus, I hope to be able to support them as they take that final step to the modern world.

Back to our story.

All was going well, perfectly almost, we were on the cusp on a romantic holiday, except there was a problem. And the problem was that once I glanced at my Kindle and checked my Facebook feed, repeatedly, I was bored. Bored like I wouldn’t believe. Deadly bored. Room and bored. Water bored. I checked the time- plenty of it left before boreding.
I turned to the Guy I went to Ireland With.

“Hey,” I said, but more lovingly than that.

He didn’t respond, so I poked him, but just with my fingers because they take all the sharp objects away when you go through security.

“Hey,” I said, again, lovingly.
“Yes?” He asked.

“Want to walk around the airport together?” I offered. It was an offer from a lover to a beloved, or maybe the other way around, I’m not a professional romance writer, you know. It was an offer that no mortal could possibly refuse, as it was filled with love and romance.
And yet.
And yet he said , “No, I’m good.”
Now, you probably will need to re-read what I had written (through tear-stained eyes and pasta-filled stomach). Because like any normal person you’re finding it hard to believe that anyone would turn down an opportunity to stroll at the airport with the woman of his dreams. And yet he did. Just like that.

And that’s how I knew that our vacation wasn’t going to be the romantic getaway that I had anticipated but rather fodder for a blog post in which everyone unites with me against him.

The Guy I Went to Ireland With’s Side:

Business class to Rome for a spring vacation with my beloved! Life doesn’t get any better!

We met at my apartment to leave together for the airport. We had lots of time and enjoyed a leisurely trip notwithstanding Friday evening traffic. We had a 10pm flight which would get us to Rome around noon which was check-in time to our five star hotel. Wonderfully planned.

No lines at the airport for premium check-in. Security; ditto.

But now a hiccup. We had to mingle with the great unwashed once we cleared security. Crying babies. Families walking twelve abreast. Idiots with strollers who hadn’t mastered the trick of walking in a straight line. Long lines of people shopping. Shopping? At the airport? Like you morons didn’t know you were taking a flight until just now?
The bright light at the end of this tunnel was the Alitalia first class lounge which was ours to enjoy as of right with our business class status.

Like a marathoner eying the finish line I focused on the distant sign and steeled myself to get there before hitting the wall.

I will save my beloved from this chaotic mass of human organisms and be the hero! Yes! We made it and entered a different world beyond. Soft music, muted lights, food and wine for the taking. Televisions with whispered volume. What’s that room over there? An even quieter space with no TV and nobody sitting there. That’s the place for my beloved and me. We sat in plush Italian armchairs and exchanged pleasantries while snacking on delicacies washed down with fine wine.

We had almost two hours before boarding so I started some light reading. My beloved did the same, switching from her Kindle to her iPhone and back again. I detected a mild restlessness in her but decided to continue with my reading. She looked around. She got up and paced a little and sat back down.

“Hey,” she said. Twice.

“Yes?” I enquired, wondering what she had in mind to elevate this experience even more.

“Want to walk around the terminal with me?” She asked.

“Just walk around?” I asked, caressing the leather that held me.

“Yeah, maybe buy something. I need tampons,” she said.

It was a tempting offer, obviously. Sitting in the lap of luxury, eating, drinking, relaxing on the one hand and tampon shopping on the other.

“No, I’m good,” I told her. I think I made the right call.

One year ago ...

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