I fell in love with Havarti in a hotel room in Oxford. The experience was decidedly seedy. I laid on a king size bed in a boutique hotel languorously folding slices of creamy buttery cheese into perfect pie shaped wedges. Then I popped them into my mouth whole and let them melt slowly into unctuous softness. I didn't even have to chew. It was glorious. Between slices of cheese I had orzo pasta salad and sweet chili flavored potato chips I'd picked up from Marks and Spencer. I even used the chips to scoop the pasta with a slice of cheese on top for extra pleasure into my mouth. It was a feast of my favorite things: sloth and gluttony and I lived in the moment and enjoyed myself.
Later I would take off all my clothes and see spider bites earned by going against my better judgement and taking pictures in a ubiquitous red English phone booth in the middle of nowhere featuring sheep. The bites burned a line of fiery red welts into my soft almond skin. It stung as I traced my finger down my arm and shoulder across my back and over one, two, three sets of love handles, my hip and finally my ass, pebbled with cellulite. I stood looking at the contrast of warm doughy rolls of flesh offset by coldly modern glass and steel fixtures until the steam from the shower fogged up every reflective surface.
When I got into the shower I tied my unruly curls up into a bun on the top of my head and relaxed into the spray. It burned. Besides being too hot, the bites down my back had been in the line of fire and were irritated. I moved the shower head, pressed my forehead against the cool stone wall and cried as the steaming water massaged my legs.
I was 22 years old taking my first real adult vacation. I'd chosen to visit a British friend and we were road tripping across England. I'd graduated college and moved home to California. I had a stable job with a good company and I finally had some spending money. I was pale and sickly looking, constantly stressed out and completely unsure of myself. I had few friends no dating prospects and no self esteem. It should have been the beginning of a wonderful period of my life, "my hot years" as my friend Kelly puts it, but I was miserable.
The rest of the trip was fun but uneventful. We saw museums and took a double decker bus tour. I rediscovered my MSG allergy and had the worst fajitas ever. I didn't want to leave because taking a break from my life had shown me just how unhappy my reality was. I got drunk in the airport at 9am before my trip home and nearly missed my flight to Chicago. I drank wine and took an antihistamine for the flight from Chicago to LA. I wasn't ready to face myself. My baggage could wait until the plane landed.
Later I would take off all my clothes and see spider bites earned by going against my better judgement and taking pictures in a ubiquitous red English phone booth in the middle of nowhere featuring sheep. The bites burned a line of fiery red welts into my soft almond skin. It stung as I traced my finger down my arm and shoulder across my back and over one, two, three sets of love handles, my hip and finally my ass, pebbled with cellulite. I stood looking at the contrast of warm doughy rolls of flesh offset by coldly modern glass and steel fixtures until the steam from the shower fogged up every reflective surface.
When I got into the shower I tied my unruly curls up into a bun on the top of my head and relaxed into the spray. It burned. Besides being too hot, the bites down my back had been in the line of fire and were irritated. I moved the shower head, pressed my forehead against the cool stone wall and cried as the steaming water massaged my legs.
I was 22 years old taking my first real adult vacation. I'd chosen to visit a British friend and we were road tripping across England. I'd graduated college and moved home to California. I had a stable job with a good company and I finally had some spending money. I was pale and sickly looking, constantly stressed out and completely unsure of myself. I had few friends no dating prospects and no self esteem. It should have been the beginning of a wonderful period of my life, "my hot years" as my friend Kelly puts it, but I was miserable.
The rest of the trip was fun but uneventful. We saw museums and took a double decker bus tour. I rediscovered my MSG allergy and had the worst fajitas ever. I didn't want to leave because taking a break from my life had shown me just how unhappy my reality was. I got drunk in the airport at 9am before my trip home and nearly missed my flight to Chicago. I drank wine and took an antihistamine for the flight from Chicago to LA. I wasn't ready to face myself. My baggage could wait until the plane landed.
