Twenty-five days because I couldn’t get refunded for a hotel that turned out to be very expensive, and why waste good money?
I read a brief passage about a god of transformation in my travel guide. I’m transforming myself. I’m becoming Proteus.
I don’t know what this journey worthy of an X-Factor style monologue will look like, but all I know is that I want to be mysterious. I want to be one of those people online who have an interesting-looking life for once, like all the other people I know. I want to do something daring.
Will, the enigma.
Will, the mystery.
Maybe I’ll change my username to something like ‘WillinGreece’. That would give off the mystery vibe.
For once, my friends and followers will wonder about my life activity.
Where is he going?
What is he doing?
The rumours would spiral.
‘I heard he got a job working in fashion in Mykonos,’ someone would say.‘I heard he’s moved abroad with a handsome man.’
Yes, I’ll be a commander of attention. The Regina George to people’s lives. Maybe I should buy army pants and flip-flops.
The only snag has been Nimble Clive.
He didn’t grant me the leave.
Even with the situation explained to him, the leave had gone ignored. I did think of using it as an excuse not to go, but then I thought he would accept it so I went ahead and booked the flights. There’d been no more talk of me losing my job, and I didn’t want to rock the boat and demand he give me the leave for fear it would remind him of the situation I was in, so I left it pending, hoping it would be approved.
Until finally, rejected.
By that point, it was too late. My EasyJet flight was booked, another thing that wouldn’t be refunded. Besides, I’d shopped on ASOS for sunglasses, summer T-shirts, flip-flops and a pair of tight, skimpy swim trunks. Once I had my outfits planned, it was too late.
I’d also gained a slim-fitting suit, as well as a white shirt and smart chino shorts. I didn’t know the dress code for Ollie’s wedding, but wanted to be prepared.
Yamas.
I’d signed up to the gym. Needed to get that summer body six months ago, but time was pressing and I thought maybe a miracle could happen and I’d be summer bod ready. I went to one class, saw all the ripped men, woke up with aching muscles the next day, and promptly cancelled my membership.
No big deal. I could do some yoga, sit-ups and swimming.
As far as Clive knows, I’m lying in bed with a terrible fever that will last for a week. I insisted it was pure coincidence that it happened at the same time as he rejected my leave. I haven’t thought ahead to week two or the rest of the days, but no doubt something else will befall me.
Twenty-five days. That’s all I need.
Clive doesn’t need me for twenty-five days. Maybe my job won’t even exist in twenty-five days. Yes, I know leaving myjobwhile facing possible redundancy is not a great idea, but honestly, I’m so fed up of giving my time to a place where I’m not appreciated. Some things are more important.
Like Ollie.
You have to risk it all for love.
When we land, my new quest to be the better version of me is front and centre. I eye my list, something I vowed to keep with me, looking at my wants. The most achievable is sex. The first hot man I see, I’ll climb him like a tree. Any one of these airport men fits the bill. What is it with strangers in airports, anyway? Why do they always look so fit?
Striding out of the plane, entering Athens’ arrival gate, I almost expect to have photographers waiting for me, because I look fabulous in my duster jacket, my grey jogging bottoms and a baggy T-shirt. So designer. So glam. ‘Unwritten’ plays in my head like I’m shooting B-roll for the title sequence ofThe Hills.
All eyes are on me, but for the wrong reason.
Because when I reach baggage claim and grab hold of my suitcase, it sends me crashing to the floor. Has someone replaced my stuff with bricks during the flight? The security at the airport comes running, and oh my God, they have guns. They’re hot, though, but now is not the time for my security fantasy. Or my wants.
