T minus 24 days

Cuba is fast approaching, it’s currently just out of reach and still doesn’t feel like it’s actually real a bit like an oasis in the middle of the desert. If the desert is an office in Hampshire and the oasis is a beach in Cuba of course! I’ve had a little while of being super excited about it and am now back to bricking it about the entire thing. Thoughts currently whizzing round my noggin are:

1) holy fuck I have so much left to do. I have four weeks worth of uni work to get ahead on, an essay to write as a result of the uni work which is due the day before the wedding, “the other project” to work on, a hen night to organise, a braai to organise, a housemate to find, a case to pack, a case to then unpack half of when I realise I don’t need 27 tops and 7 pairs of shoes for two weeks, I have to find time to fit in all my OCD ish checking and double checking and packing and repacking and I have 2 friends having birthdays between now and then.

2) holy fuck I have to be on a beach in approximately 24 days time. I have thighs like cottage cheese and the hairiest legs in the Northern Hemisphere. I also have the world’s most useless sarong to cover said lumpy thighs. My sarong is about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike because it is completely see through and reminds me of those grotty polyester negligees that dirty old housewives wear to “entice the milkman”. Am seriously considering tearing up a bedsheet and spending the entire two weeks wearing a toga creation and passing myself off as a Greek goddess.

3) holy fuck I have to fly long haul next to a bridesmaid who has already admitted that she is a nightmare flyer who needs valium to get on a plane. This gives me visions of Flabs suddenly turning into BA Barracus and spending the entire flight (if we can get her onto the plane in the first place) jingling her gold jewellery from nerves. She’s promised that she’ll take some valium and have a glass of red wine which will knock her out for the entire journey, I am hoping this is the case or I might get locked up for air rage after stabbing her with a plastic spork. I actually hate flying myself however am more of the stoic silent type, having been described by one travel companion on a hellish 17 hour journey to France to surprise my best girl as being “a swan on a lake” because I’m calm on the surface but internally screaming “fuuuuuck” about everything.

4) holy fuck what if I don’t fit in the plane seat and then have to spend 10 hours crammed into a seat that will give me bruises and possibly cause a blood clot and what if the seat belt doesn’t fit and I have to stand up and wave my arm around to get some (probably) condescending anorexic teenager wearing an entire makeup counter on her face to give me one of those dreaded extender belts? Sure fire way to put me on a downer which will only increase once I hit the beach. I think I might have to slip a couple of pre-op photos into my hand luggage so I can remind myself how far I’ve come and also to prove to some of Marmaloid’s friends that “yes, it is really me” and “no, I didn’t have mono”.

5) holy fuck I have to try and be a little bit relaxed about this whole holiday thing!!! I’m only going to a 4 star hotel for a fortnight not backpacking up the Amazon with Ben Fogle (drools)…..

I’m hoping once Marmaloid goes into bridal hyperdrive my fears will be consumed by total excitement – Marms, in case you’re reading this… I cannot wait to stand by you as someone finally 😉 makes an honest woman out of you and I know you’re going to look absolutely flipping gorgeous. I’m honoured and proud to be your bridesmaid and so just ignore the fact I’m a whingy whinge bag about my flabby bits and promise me you won’t sink the boat if we go sailing.

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