Oh shit. I’m going on holiday to Greece with the new boyfriend. This is the first mini break we’ve had together. It’s the most concentrated time we will have spent with one another since we started dating. Help me.
I’ve never holidayed with a boyfriend. I’m terrified. It’s a potential emotional warzone. My head is marinating in questions. So many things can go wrong… What if he gets bored or annoyed by me? What if we have a totally different approach to a beach holiday? What if he’s one of those bastards who tries to make me Jet Ski, or play tennis, or do ANYTHING other than sit on my arse eating crisps? How much hummus is too much hummus? What if I look like an aubergine in my swimsuit? Realistically how many hours at a time can I suck in my tummy for? I have utter toilet stage fright – seriously, where am I going to go to the loo? Is he going to try to have sex with me in the shower? (A big no no on my list, I can barely stand on the ground, never mind tackling the elements that are water, soap and God help me, a willy.) By day three will we have anything left to say to each other? Will I hate him? Could we end up drowning each other in the sea?!
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The thing is, I just need to relax – it was going to happen eventually. He’s bound to find out at some point what I look like when I get out of shower, the fact that I don’t emerge out of the sea like Halle Berry in a James Bond movie… but more like the end scene in Free Willy when the whale jumps inelegantly over the rocks, and that women are SO much messier than he thought a woman/civilised human being capable of...
But you know what? It’s all me. And if he’s not into it, then he’s not for me. I’ve spent all this time worrying about how to be a better version of my true self, which is insane, because if I can’t accept me, why should someone else?
So I’ve decided I’m breathing out and enjoying this trip. What will be will be, and even if I don’t come home with a boyfriend, I will have a fucking fabulous tan.
