Have you ever looked at other people’s holiday pictures and felt envy? The happy couples smiling, the wonderful destinations, whilst you are at home, doing mundane things and nagging with your other half? Well, if you haven’t felt envy, congratulations! You are a far better person than I am!
So never did I imagine that one day, I would turn into one of those people posting perfect pictures from a perfect holiday on their Facebook page. This is until last month, when hubby and I were lucky enough to go away, just the two of us for the first time in 10 years for a romantic few days to Budapest! So totally enamoured with the city, the views, the architecture, food and Christmas Market, I posted several pictures a day to the envy of my friends! “You seemed to have had a lovely holiday” they commented upon my return and I nodded pleased with myself.
But was it really the romantic holiday I had boasted about? Judge for yourselves, as here comes my confession of what really happened…
Well firstly, none of our pictures tell of some unplanned stops like at the bottom of Buda castle. Hubby looking perplexed at his flushing, frustrated and sweaty Finnish wife hissing angrily: “I’m boiling from the inside!” Realising he was treading on dangerous soil and that anything he was going to suggest at that particular moment would be wrong, hubby agreed to stop and stand still, waiting for his wife’s “tropical moment” and subsequent bad mood to pass. Needless to say, no pictures were taken at that point of a clammy, angry middle aged woman with sweaty hair.
You also saw some fantastic pictures of us walking around beautiful Budapest, but what you did not see, was the daily procedure going on in the hotel room! There are no pictures of hubby putting plasters on my stinky feet at the end of the day, neither any of the huge blisters on them. Top marks to hubby for handling my feet without a gas mask!
And talking about gas, you saw some pictures of the glorious Gresham Palace and read that we had stopped there for a nightcap. But you did not hear the rest of the story…
You see, walking back to our hotel, I had started to feel a lot of trapped wind as a result of the evening’s dinner cruise on The Danube and a fruity cocktail at The Four Seasons Hotel at Gresham Palace. So approaching our hotel room, I had to rush past a worried looking husband into the bathroom, shouting: “Sorry, but I need to let out a massive fart!” “Wait”, shouted hubby, “I’ll put the telly on so I can’t hear you” but by that time I had already let out a massive trump. “Too late” shouted husband from the room” I can hear you!” And that’s when I totally let rip with something that could only be described as a mini explosion of some kind. Now this is where most hotel guests would probably have phoned the front desk, claiming they had a terrorist with a machine gun trapped in their bathroom, but not my darling husband who was lying on the bed calmly shouting: “I can still hear you!!”
“Well, thank God that didn’t happen earlier” hubby commented, referring to the extremely posh venue we had just visited, “or they would have had to rename Gresham Palace The Fart Season Hotel”
What can I say? Not quite the romantic trip anticipated, but what can you expect after nearly 25 years of marriage? Please click like, if you think my husband deserves a special medal for “25 years of service”. 🙂