Early holidays with your other half are exciting and magical: someone’s on hand to slather on your sun lotion and you can cuddle up on the balcony late into those balmy evenings, sipping fruity cocktails and making plans for the future. Plus, of course, there’s a whole new arena for those extra curricular activities. But it does put paid to one rather integral part of those precious two weeks spent out of the office and lazing around the beach - the Holiday Romance.
My alternative to the above example of domestic bliss is little less clichéd. A number of us would willingly trade our blossoming life long relationship with John, complete with three star all inclusive featuring live entertainment and overpriced giant sunglasses, for a fortnight hurtling around on a moped with Darius, slurping from lemons fresh off the tree and skinny dipping in shallow waters sparkling with luminescent algae. We’re flattered when Darius tells us that we are ‘different from the others’ as, after all, he’d know; he really understands women.
What did you opt for this summer? I’d like to say that I went for the former, that I’ve finally traded my meaningless and shallow existence for something more heartfelt and real. But, unfortunately, that’s not the case. I had a fantastic two weeks with José the barman, though I was happy to return to my desk and continue with the search for my John. Because no amount of pina coladas and star gazing with the locals can beat that first blissful holiday together. I’m not waiting to hear off José and I’m not booking my next flight out; I won’t make the same mistake again. Because at the end of the day two weeks off life with Darius is great, but there’s nothing quite like having your own John, waiting on the sofa with a cuppa at the end of an autumn day.
No comments:
Post a Comment