Holiday Arguments

Relationships have a point that all sane men fear: The annual holiday with the girlfriend. It goes without saying; The minute she (or her friends – whatever comes first) regard you two as a couple, demands for a fortnight for two away somewhere hot are guaranteed. And don’t even think of agreeing then putting it off somewhere down the line – she’ll be a fucking nightmare for the rest of the year. You HAVE to go on holiday.

BEFORE YOU GO
Time to make the booking. Your mates’ have all told you what an excellent time they had with their girlfriends in a villa on some Greek island. “Excellent” you think. Cheap booze and peace & quiet. However, she’s just read Cosmopolitan magazine and has other ideas. Kenya, for two weeks. In August. “In the name of Christ you fucking idiot” you implore. “Al Qaeda will skin us alive and feed us to hyenas. And it’s 65 fucking degrees and raining”. Her face twists until it resembles a dog’s arse. “You can stop bitching, ‘cos I’ve already made the booking. With your credit card”. Christ.

SATURDAY
7am: Wake Up: As far as this goes, this is prime time for blazing rows. Rows so big they can split the earth open. Predictably, she’s on blob week. “so no funny business like last time you filthy animal”. Sadly, this is just the beginning.
9am: Packing: Her tongue is sharpening by the minute. You’re taking 3 pairs of socks, 3 of pants, 1 pair of shorts and 6 t-shirts. “Six shirts?” she rants. “So I suppose I can’t take anything can I?” She flips the suitcase over in anger and storms up to the bathroom, crying. You take out 3 t-shirts & repack, to include her hairdryer, 10 pairs of identical shoes, and all the make up she’s ever bought.
10am: To The Airport: “We’re late, we’re late, we’re fucking laaate” She’s only just remembered you’re meant to be boarding at 9am, but she won’t check the tickets “In case it’s true”. You breathe deeply and count to 10. She’s never learned to drive because she can’t be bothered and she doesn’t read maps to get you to the airport quicker. You harbour images of her being sucked out the plane toilet at 20,000 feet.
11am: Airport: You arrive. Six fucking hours early. She’s still worried you’ll miss the flight. At check-in you bundle the 5 bags you’re carrying to the woman, stow away the parking tickets and keys, hold the bag full of women’s mags and her travel pillow, call your mate who’s feeding the cat, check the car booking for when you arrive, and notify the hotel in advance. All she’s got to look after are the passports. “Oh, I though you were doing it”. She glares at you. She knows she’s wrong but she’s not budging. Back home in the car, return to the airport with the documents. Still 3 hours to go.
6pm: On The Plane: “I’m not eating this shit. There’s no legroom. Can’t you move up a bit? Wish I could smoke. Those hostesses are fucking rude. This bloke behind me is winding me up”. All the things that were annoying you, now annoy you double, because she’s moaning about them. You can’t take it, “Look, for fuck’s sake. Just shut up will you? Please?” The high altitude leads to more tears. The pilot comes over & informs you that you’ll be arrested at the airport if you raise your voice again, while she quivers like you’ve just smacked shit out of her.
11:30pm: At The Hotel: Her eyes are red like a baboons arse, and she’s getting pricklier by the minute. She spies a cobweb in the room and screams. “There’s no fucking spiders, love” you try to calm her with. She shakes, “G-e-e-t m-e-ee o-u-u-ut of h-e-e-ere NOW!!!!” Downstairs, you spend an hour explaining that you’re saddled with a mad bitch and require alternative accommodation.

SUNDAY
7am: Breakfast: Come on, it’s a holiday. You need a lie-in, but she’s not interested. “Let’s have breakfast, we never have breakfast together”. You go down and chew on a stale bread roll and a black banana. “You wanted to come here” she retorts. You see red. 10 minutes later you’re banned from the dining room for blue language.
8pm: Local Nightclub: You go up to the bar to get a couple of drinks. It’s a shit nightclub, but for once she looks happy enough. On your return, she’s surrounded by 5 massive local lads. The stop talking and stare at you like shit on their shoe. “come on love, let’s go” you suggest. “Oh guys, this is my boyfriend” she says. One leans over and whispers “Your woman, I am going to fuck her tonight”. He grins and pulls his shirt back to reveal a machete. Once you escape with her, she thinks you’re a jealous racist. You wait until inside the taxi before you really let rip.

MONDAY
5pm: Hotel Bar: You’ve been gasping for a proper drink, and finally she makes up her mind that she wouldn’t mind one. You buy her a vodka and red bull and a pint of lager for yourself, and watch a veil of madness draw over her face. After 2 hours of lechery, giggling and unfunny innuendo, she gags on her 3rd drink and you spend the rest of the evening keeping her hair out of the toilet as she throws up. “You bastard” she says the next day. “How could you let me get that drunk?” “You only had 3!” you yell back. “Well that’s it. We’re not drinking until we get back”. She leaves it hanging in the air, itching for a row.

TUESDAY
12pm: At The Pool: At last, a chance to unwind. You’ve got the last 2 sunbeds, a cold drink and feel like nodding off for pleasantly for a couple of hours. You don’t even flinch when she says “Oh it’s too bloody hot. I told you I don’t like it too hot” ” Why don’t you go for a swim & leave me in peace, eh?” you offer. When you wake up an hour later, there’s a lad sitting next to you. “Christ mate” he nudges your arm with. “Have you seen that chick over there with her tits out? One minute she was on the Bacardi’s, next she’s giving it the Stringfellows routine!” She is standing on a table, stripping, with a group of builders egging her on. Later, she blames you. “I told you I dint’ like it hot. Why didn’t you stop me, you bastard? God, you hate me…” You raise your hand and the boy who was sitting beside you grabs it from behind. “Eh, this bloke giving you shit, love?” Chriiiist.
3pm: On The Beach: “If that’s what you want, my sweet.” is all you can say when she demands her sand time. It’s absolutely roasting down there and she cooks herself like a lamb shank. “Right, I’m going topless” is all she says. “If you get your fun bags out, it’s all over” you say. Moments later your face is wrapped in her bikini and she’s offered ice creams, bracelets and foot-rubs. “They’re sooo friendly here” she says. “You daft, blind slag” is all you can manage. 3 hours later, she tells you you’ve been using oil instead of protection cream. You now glow hotter than the sun and have melted the sand beneath you into glass.

WEDNESDAY
7am: Shopping: She gets it into her head that she wants to visit the ‘local’ flea market on the day you’re recovering from 3rd degree burns and sunstroke. It’s 4 and a half hours’ journey on an unventilated coach, every pothole is bringing uncontrollable outbursts of agony and nausea. You’re too weak to argue at this point, despite her looking over and tutting every 30 seconds. You need sympathy. You get 6 hours in a slum, with con-men selling hooky watches and driftwood ‘sculptures’. “Come on pet” you plead. “This stuff is half the price on the resort, let’s get to a cafe”. “You ignorant pig” she replies, slapping your arm and making you gag. You estimate the national sentence for murder and weigh up your options.
6pm: Restaurant: “Eh, I’ll have the Ethethethes Methethetheses, grassy arse” she shouts as you shake your head with ingrained bitterness. You order egg and chips. There’s only 2 days left of this hell and you’re not spending it on porcelain. When her dinner arrives, it’s 2 bulls testicles, a goat’s eye with a horse’s dick through it and blue stallion sauce. “I can’t eat this, You’ll have to have it”. And with that she deftly swaps plates. The nausea returns as you battle to eat this car accident of a meal. You spend the next 2 days on the toilet squeezing out a drizzle of blood from your anus, while she complains about you being ‘unadventurous’. Too weak to argue, you reach for her toothbrush and dip it in.

SATURDAY
The Flight Back: “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. That’s the last time I go on holiday with you. I knew I should’ve gone to Magaluf with the girls. You actually enjoyed wasting my time and money, didn’t you?” It’s all or nothing now, and you let rip with a huge, primal scream. 20,000 feet below, chimpanzees return the cry. Lions wake up and roar at the sky. Birds leave their roosts and trees are split open. Oxygen masks fall from above. “Ooh, get you!” she replies. “I hope YOU’VE enjoyed yourself, you PRICK!”

3 DAYS LATER
You realise that you’ve been using the wrong toothbrush.

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