Displaced

Long-time pal and sometime roommate Lyndsey joined us on our galivant across Costa Rica. She brought with her Mike, a Londoner and general man-about-town. The two of them took a cab, as you do, from the airport to the hotel and had a conversation with their driver which stuck with us.

L&M: Pleasant, conversational. Is Christmas very big down here?
Cab driver: Not for me.

I feel like a tiny jerk about it, but I find this hilarious. I don’t know if it was the too-much-information factor or the solemn portent of Mike’s tone as he said, “Not for me,” with his chin down, his eyebrows up and a British downbeat on the last word as if promising worse, but there it is. It also turns out that, “Not for me,” is a surprisingly versatile punchline in conversation. It lends that extra something to a chat, that little suffering-as-lifestyle-choice, don’t-ask quality that is so attractive in strangers.

To get back to the issue at hand though, “Why?” you might ask, “What was his issue? Why does this poor hilarious man have such a glum take on our happy holiday?” Good question. Let’s continue.

L&M: Why?
Cab driver: My lady left.
L: For where?
Cab driver: For another person.

I can’t help it. I find it additionally hilarious that a.) he was left for a “person,” gender unspecified, formality and mystery implied, and b.) Lyndsey completely missed his meaning.

I want to find this man, write down everything he says for as long as I can take it – probably in the range of ten minutes – go get a drink and use his material forever.

“Why,” you may ask, “why, Emma, have your recent posts been so sparse, so undernourished, so, as my grandmother would say, spakely?” Why because we are leaving for Costa Rica on Thursday! Yes, the Christmas season this year will be preceded by a jaunt to Central America. Nothing so relaxing as complicated travel right before the holidays, let me tell you what.

There is delight in our eyes at the prospect of beaches and rainforests, I cannot deny it, but it is hardly visible beneath the glisten of panic that has accompanied this long weekend of packing and reserving and printing of itineraries and worry about potholes and rain. Oh, and Christmas. Right. That holiday for which it will already be too late to order presents that have any chance of arriving in time for the blessed day if we wait to send for them until we get back from warmer climes. That holiday of cheer which requires a tree (gotten) and lights (gotten and determined to be broken and unfixable and which must now be replaced with better ones which will also break mysteriously while lying in a box for eleven months out of twelve) and ornaments (disorganized, mostly not broken because, thank God, we have no cat to tear them from the limbs of the tree because it thinks it’s being amusing or predatory or because it has come up with other wrong-headed cat thoeries).

Yes, to sum up, we are very close to the end of our ropes at the very beginning of this season. Thank God for beaches and fruity drinks and let us all pray that there will be no showing of unflattering photographs upon our return and much laughter at the memory of how stressed we once were, back before Costa Rica, laughter about how it is all behind us and only bliss lies ahead. Yes, we will giggle and chortle…as we madly water plants, wrap and re-ship gifts, say a brief ‘hello’ to our tree and pack for our departure for Christmas in Switzerland a mere ten days after our return.

Omigod. I have to go lie down.