Run away with me baby - The first dirty weekend

I’m there. We’ve all been there. The first weekend away. It’s painstakingly exciting and nerve wrecking, all wrapped up in one impenetrable bubble.

So I was standing there, reading the flight times, looking at the hotel images he’d sent through and all I could think about after over sized beds and spa treatments, was maintenance and by that I mean body maintenance. Nails. Hair. Skin. The timing. The timing couldn’t have been worse, my period was only just over, leaving its traces in my skin, an issue which isn’t fantastic at the best of times, even if you’re being dropped to your own front door at the end of the night and collected again the following one, fully concealed and powered up. But this, this was entirely different. This was naked skin in the mornings and blotchy skin at night. Fantastic.

What is it women think about next? I can’t speak for everyone, but my next thought was wardrobe. More specifically underwear. I love my underwear. He loves my underwear. The selection is vast and the picks need to be top. That’s half the fun of running away isn’t it? Lots of lounging around in pants and vest. Big fluffy duvets. An hourless day that drifts into night. Something that we all need glimpses of every now and then.

So I packed. Laptop for work, because this boy will work, even if we’re away. The way I see it, you have to mix business with pleasure and so long as there’s enough of the pleasure, hard work can never be detrimental. Loubs for dinners, that bits easy. Next was the track, something warm for the pits and cool for the laps. Then reality dawned. That cool crisp morning light that blinds you for a split second when it hits, washed over me….

There is no bullshitting around this. No matter how often you see the person you’re dating. How many nights you sleep over. The first stint away is a whole other story. It’s like taking Snow White and throwing her into her prince before the apple got lodged in her throat and they lived happily-ever-after. Or letting Rapunzel out of the tower to go on that date, long before he was climbing her hair for a few hours respite. This is the pivotal moment in any relationship. Tip one way and you’re good, this could be the maker. Tip the other and awh oooooh, it’s suddenly busy schedules and the slow process of phasing that person out.

And it’s not just me on the see-saw, he’s fifty percent of how things go. And this could tip one way or the other.

So I sank onto the bed, suitcase at my feet and I felt it. The pangs of uncertainty. That little spark of fear. I heard it, every staggered breath of wonder. And then I let it go. No weekend away could go wrong, not if it’s where you’re meant to be and what you’re meant to be doing. And so, if it all goes boooom, it’s just a tell tale sign that we’re not meant to be in this. But something tells me it’ll be pretty darn good. My man, fast cars and big hotel beds, yes, I think we might just have a blast, blotchy skin, toilet stops and all.

Watch this space……

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