But within about 3 minutes, I had broken into a cold sweat and found my face softly enveloped in the barf bag from my seat pocket. Is this really happening? As the older gentleman next to me looked on with confused concern, I quietly and neatly barfed, wiped my face and reached for the flight attendant assistance button.
The ambien was inhibiting my ability to analyze why I vommed – I’m not afraid of flying and get no motion sickness- was there bad Gorgonzola in my Cosi Signature Salad? Only looking back am I realizing that it was from anxiety about what I was about to do.
Back up about 12 hours. “You shouldn’t go,” my mom declared. “You can’t fly to London for any man – boy? – who’s going to let you take a bus.” Desperate for some romance amidst the Washington DC dating scene, which is infiltrated with preppy douchemonkeys whose egos far outsize their sexual prowess, I was taking 2 days off for a “romantic European getaway” with a 25 year old English skipper I spent 3 reckless nights with on The Yacht Week over New Years. We had talked for 3 months every day – 3 months! The average guy I’ve dated in the US avoids phone calls like zombies with AIDS – shouldn’t I at least see if there’s something there? So I used my precious United and Hyatt points from my extensive work travel and planned a spontaneous long weekend in London. YOLO, right? Wrong. Girlfriend, he was calling you every day cause he aint got no JOB.
So back to my mom. That’s when he had dropped the first bomb, the day before my arrival. “Can you come to Cambridge for the first night? It will be fun!” Fun? You live above your parents’ garage, it’s a 2 hour bus ride from Heathrow, and I know you’re only suggesting it because you can’t afford the city for an extra day. But *of course* that’s not what I said: “Sure! Would love to meet your friends and I’ve always wanted to check out Cambridge! Have you at least told your parents I’m staying?” “No worries…they won’t even notice, we’ll be out and about.” All the times my mom warned me against dating younger suddenly made sense in a moment of zen.
So there I was, regretting this whole thing, puking for my first time on a plane.
I’m a fan of efficiency, so let me take you on a fast forward journey through my England adventure: the bus breaks down it takes four hours to get to Cambridge I’m exhausted we do a punting tour and he haggles the owners for 45 minutes to let us go for free we split the check at lunch we club that night I get my iPhone stolen he makes me wait in the freezing cold to smoke even though he knows it makes me nauseous he can’t have an orgasm that night the next day he leaves me waiting alone for an hour in the cabana while he packs in his parents house we almost miss the train it’s raining in London and so cold I’m numb we wait in line for an hour at the club his friends are at by the time we get to the front of the line they leave he proceeds to spend the last of his money on shots the next day I have to buy us lunch oh wait I have to buy us dinner too I find he actually has a problem coming about 30% of the time throughout the weekend the last day I buy us sandwiches he stops at a convenient store and buys *cigarettes* after you let me buy you a sando and bought cigarettes? he’s so embarrassed he insists on showing me his bank account balance at an ATM it’s negative i now understand addiction.
Moral of the story: Trust your gut.