Chick flicks and “fun beach reads” will lead you to believe that couples who go away on vacation together always have a super romantic time. A “romantic getaway” they call it.
I don’t know about you, but when Kyle and I go on vacation – we usually just end up bickering about the traffic, or the crowds, or “what time is check-out?” since SOMEONE always seems to forget that check-out is at 11 – even though “check-out is ALWAYS at 11”, but we probably won’t be ready by then because SOMEONE is still in the bathroom.
Our first trip to San Francisco was…. kind of romantic? I guess? It was romantic when Kyle paid some guy to switch seats on the flight home so that he could sit next to me. In a middle seat. While I used his shoulder as a pillow and spent the entire four hours blowing my nose (because OF COURSE I’d woken up with a sinus infection that morning and proceeded to go through airport security with a box of tissues.) Not only did he opt for a crappy middle seat by his sniffly, disgusting fiancé – he went out of his way to hold my hand and let me rest my head on his shoulder, even though I had snot dripping out of my face. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is.