As a single male rapidly approaching my thirties I glance upon my trail of destruction and start questioning what has caused all this. Answer? Old undies and zippers.
I have since come up with a metaphor that has given me a new prospective on the way I have conducted myself in the past. Turbulent comes to mind, but I'm sure ex-girlfriends would be able to better describe my actions in only four letters, love not being one of them. And heres why I feel a new relationship can be like checking your luggage in at the airport.
Upon reaching that crucial point of taking on the relationship journey, I begin my preparation and pull my wardrobe apart, taking enough necessaries and just in cases to get me through the journey. I try to keep in mind, which of those other things are really in fact necessaries, and question which baggage is only ever going to be a just in case. Things such as ex-girlfriends phone numbers (I need them in case I left something behind) and the odd hang up are like an old pair of undies.
Me? Well I took a different approach; I jammed it into one bag, pushed down until it appeared to be a well presented neat little bundle and forced the zipper up.
Now I'm waiting at the counter and have discovered my baggage is a little bit heavier than I was anticipating and that zipper doesn't seem so strong now and I really didn't want that old pair of well used undies exposed, Too late it's already been spotted, my dignity is now ruined! What to do now? Could change my ticket to First Class, they seem to have an extra allowance for baggage. Alas I'm not First Class material and whilst I'm still me, that's the way it's going to be.
It's too late, sorry to say I can't leave any of my worldly possessions behind at the airport, they will think it's a bomb and blow up my undies. I can't let myself turn around and go home as I've already committed myself to the journey, to cancel and delay the trip will cost me more! And besides why would I want to part with anything, would I not feel incomplete. After all I need everything is in that bag because it's still a part of me, so I agree to pay that unexpected little joy of an additional fee knowing that means one less thing for me to enjoy on my journey.
I accept the extra charges whilst wondering why that fat business man who actually weighs more seems to get away with bigger undies and not having to pay for it.
So I have had a journey filled with some blissful highs but not without comments about those scraggly undies. Along the way collecting little souvenirs of this and that to add to my poor overweight and under zippered baggage, not forgetting I'm still lugging around those seemingly not-so-necessaries, just in case's. They turned out to be just that, providing no use what-so-ever, the problem is I have them, I didn't leave them at home and now they are weighing me down. Embarrassingly enough, everybody else has seen it too through my now busted zipper.
It's now that I find myself home from the journey, dumped, abandoned in a mountain of souvenirs that have no other purpose other than to remind me that I'm suffering post travel depression and when that seems all too much to handle, the dreaded credit card statement comes along just to remind me of the fact that I had to pay for that blessed excess baggage and with interest the debt seems larger.
At the end of the day it's like this, most people I know have some baggage, it's just how much I choose to take with me. It's not fun and it's not fair but it's the way it is. If I am to hold onto those old undies for just in case, they will eventually bit me on the bum with their cotton frayed teeth. So now I will throw away those old undies and take only hand luggage next time I travel, as it doesn't have to get checked in. Keep it carry on is my new motto
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