The first law of travelling, espesh as a girl, is: no matter how much you pack, you will always find, when you reach your destination, that you have left SOMETHING behind.
Or rather, you will realise same when you are half an hour down the road with no possibility of going back to get the missing item…and the whole of the rest of the journey before you to contemplate your loss. Fret, fret, fret!
Last night, about an hour into a four hour journey, i realised that despite my best efforts and the pride with which i left the house thinking that THIS time i’d forgotten nothing, i had my first bad eureka moment. Yep. Away from home for two and a bit days and…no KY!
Not a total disaster, bu-ut…i needed to dilate last night and therefore i needed to find some KY somewhere. In darkest Lancashire? Surely not. I already felt i was crossing the boundary from civilisation back to medieval…and it did worry me that such a substance might not be traceable north of the border. Espesh after lights out.
We stopped at a filling station (eeek!) and i hunted round. Rennies, germaloids and shampoo…but no KY. Then back into the car which for some reason had decided to overheat. Perhaps it, too, needed lubricating?
And about then i realised my second mistake: I’d left behind my douching implement. Huh? Well, its an easy mistake to make. It sits on the side of my bath, ready for action, and nothing else that needed packing was anywhere in ts vicinity. Utter calamity!
I am not 100% sure just how important douching is. I doubt anything will fall out if i don’t do it…but i have already received various dire warnings about thrush…some of them retailed quite gleefully by women in the style of: “hey girl! here’s another thing you’re going to have to get used to”. So this felt a somewhat bigger blow.
I could imagine finding KY in a 24-hour supermarket somewhere: but a douching implement, particularly one labelled the “anal streemmaster” really doesn’t feel like the sort of thing that you will find in your average Tesco.
Don’t worry, my companion re-assured me: we can always buy a turkey baster. Oh, the indignity! And the embarrassment: we reached the far north (Wigan) where we discovered a 24-hour Asda…and then proceeded to bemuse the locals by attempting to purchase KY and a turkey baster.
No doubt our efforts will have done nothing to quell the view that “folks are queer down South”.
Finally, arrived some time after midnight, and armed with the aforementioned implements, i make the last and ultimate discovery. KY? Douche? These are as nothing besides my third overlook: I have left my foundation behind…and am due to get all dolled up for a wedding tomorrow.
Aaargh! I am never travelling anywhere again.