Yesterday after work I sat down at our desk and started pulling together everything we would need for our upcoming vacation. I gathered both of our passports, my medical info and then looked up our flight itineraries online to double check what time we’d need to be at the airport Sunday evening.
Only, when I looked at the itinerary, Adam’s name wasn’t on it. I checked and double checked and scoured the pages, but only ONE passenger was listed: me. “Don’t panic” I told myself, “DON’T PANIC DONTPANICDONTPANICDONTPANIC!! FJNWUSRJDFJKF!L$%^!”
And then I thought wait! I can just look up our flights on the WestJet website, perhaps they only put my name on the itinerary because I booked them! Yes! That must be it! So I enter all of my shiz on WestJet.ca, and a ticket pops up.
ONE ticket.
For me.
Aaaand then I started panicking FOR SERIOUS. How the hell did this happen? How do you FORGET to book a ticket for your partner for your ONE yearly vacation?? I immediately called WestJet, hoping that some “superagent” could take pity on my bumbling incompetence and give me a cheap flight because the flights, the ones (or, ONE, as the case may be) that I purchased back in March for around $600 were now $1400. And um, no. NO. Do not want.
Guys, I was on hold for 38 minutes. Thirty-eight minutes! Sweating, biting my lip, and smiling furiously as Adam and his two erstwhile cousins walked through the door around minute 27. The cousins have been staying with us for a few days while they do some work in our town and it’s been sort of like an extended boys night, a boys week if you will. Each evening consists of drinking lots of beers and laughing loudly at each other’s jokes, while farting and scratching themselves.
Needless to say I adore them.
SO. Boys are sitting around laughing and shooting the shit, Madeleine is pacing downstairs trying not to lose her shit. At one point, the younger of the cousins walks downstairs and strikes up a conversation
“What’s up? Who are you on the phone with?”
Bursting with terror and fear I hiss “I think I forgot to book Adam a plane ticket to Hawaii!”
The cousin’s eyes widen. He’s silent for a moment, and then the dick just laughs! Then keeps laughing. Doubles over laughing in fact. And then he says, “How do you ‘forget’ to book your husband a plane ticket?”
Yes! Exactly! Look at my face! THIS IS NOT HELPING!!
I am on hold for what seems for forever. But, what I didn’t remember but what you guys probably do remember is that I have no memory. Like, NO memory. I can’t remember where I put the garbage bags, or who’s birthday it is until its tomorrowandomgIdon’thaveagift and, as the kind WestJet woman kindly explained to me, I didn’t remember that Adam and I had booked separately.
I didn’t remember the conversation about each of us using our own points to book flights because they wouldn’t let us combine them. And I didn’t remember how, although we’re on the same flight, we have different confirmation numbers and booking codes.
And I didn’t actually know, that because we have different last names (I never changed mine) they didn’t know to combine the reservations to avoid this sort of last-minute panic.
The funniest part was that halfway through my eternity of being on hold, I was sitting there with my hand on the button to buy another ticket. I thought that if I told Adam and left the decision up to him, he would opt not to come and instead stay at home and deal with some pressing matters that have come up lately. So I was going to just book it so he couldn’t make that decision.
And confronted with this, I thought to myself very seriously: “I will do what it takes.”. I was determined to have Adam there beside me, sipping mojitos and getting skin cancer because he refuses to use suncreen. We need this, I kept thinking, we need to fortify ourselves for the months ahead and at some point the memory of those beaches and mojitos and sandy kisses will be all that’s sustaining us. So I was going say fuck it to the $1400 and do it.
Oh my god. Why am I like this? This can’t be normal! But hey, all is well.
We are BOTH getting on a plane Sunday evening and leaving this hellhole for a week. One blissful, glorious week where we can give each other pseudonyms like Louise and Rodrigo, drive around in dog-hair free rental cars, wear ridiculous shoes and get sand in place sand should never be.
All is well. Aloha!