This all started almost two years ago. Jay and I were in the car and he casually brings up the fact that he signed up for a work rotation in England. He tends to drop bombs/start slightly uncomfortable conversations when we are in the car. I think he does this on purpose; he knows I’m trapped and I can’t get out. Funny thing is, my Mom used to do that too (weird, right? I’m wondering if there is a secret conspiracy between them). She would try to talk me about puberty and sex, not my favorite topic as 10 year old. At that time I stuck my head in a book, a parent can never fault you for wanting to read. I know, I know — brilliant. Unfortunately, that tactic doesn’t work so well as an adult. Anyway, my first reaction to this was what any typical, Type A personality would say: “You’re kidding, right? Who just packs up and moves to London for six months? I have a job… responsibilities, people that (I think) count on me. I can’t just up and leave. Really? This isn’t a joke? You want to move to London? What would we do with the condo, my volleyball team, the utilities?” I think this is all part of the oldest child syndrome; we are trained to be responsible. But I know what you are thinking, what a lame way to react to such a great opportunity. Well, at least that’s what Jay was thinking. But lucky for me, he knew I just needed some time for it to sink in.
So here we are, sitting at the airport, ready to start our adventure. While I am seriously excited, I am slightly apprehensive about a few things: 1) The food. Yes, I fully admit that I am a food snob. Not the kind of snob that doesn’t like to try new foods, but more of the “is it high in protein – I prefer organic dairy -fried food makes my stomach hurt” kind of snob. 2) The flat. I’m not sure what to expect. But let’s just say there are some things I’m not willing to live without. I’ll be checking the kitchen immediately for a crockpot. 3) My allergies. The joke is that I should live in a bubble; I’m (basically) allergic to life, I have skin like SnowWhite, and I tend to constantly warn people of the dangers of microwaving plastic and eating pesticides (I just can’t help it). I’m wondering what kind of havoc the damp, England weather will have on my system. On the up side, we are moving to London (well, Reading, but close enough); we get to travel across Europe; I get to keep my job because my bosses are awesome (I’m sure my co-workers will give me a hard time for being a suck up); and I’ve already found 4 pilates studios within a 3 miles radius. What else could a girl ask for? Oh, and to add a little puke factor in, I get to do it all with my husband to be.