People wrongly assume that because I'm a lesbian I'll be good at
directions, as if lesbians have natural navigational skills. If
they do, I've never found them. The fact that I found my way out of
the closet at all is nothing short of a miracle.
When other people get lost, they stumble upon ancient ruins or a
little off-the-beaten-track pub. My kind of lost involves driving
in ever decreasing circles around a one-way system screaming at the
sat nav woman until, exhausted, I pull over and call my girlfriend
to guide me in.
This weekend we were enjoying a leisurely lunch in Brussels when
my girlfriend suddenly leapt to her feet and announced that our
train was leaving in twenty minutes. For some reason she thought
that I had my eye on the time, when in fact I had my eye on a
tiramisu.
In the frenzy that followed, she ordered me to run ahead, find the
Eurostar, and begin check-in, while she retrieved our bag from left
luggage. Find Eurostar? Was she crazy? I can't even find the North
Star.
I spent the next ten minutes ricocheting around the terminal like
a projectile pinball unable to find the check-in desk. Aware that
time was ticking away, despair set in: my girlfriend will kill me;
I'm going to go round and round this frites kiosk for eternity; I
may never get to watch Tulisa's 'Judges Houses'.
By the time I found check-in I didn't know whether I was coming or
going. I was sweaty, I was tearful, and I was without hope. I was
also without ticket as it turned out, because my girlfriend had
kept mine so that I wouldn't lose it.
One tannoy announcement later and we're reunited only to find that
our train doesn't actually leave for another hour. I feel somewhat
vindicated. I might have been lost, but this time it was my
girlfriend's time keeping that was found wanting.
