Why, Wellington?

Why am I in Wellington? A hen’s party. Why Wellington? I’m not sure, but it’s where the bride wanted, so we’re here.

Earlier in the week, I discovered what our “surprise activity” was – organised by the maid of honour – circus training. An awesome activity, 3 of the girls being pole dancers in some form or another, with another having always wanted to try. Sounds super fun. Unfortunately, of course, my shoulder is still being a dick about life, so that ruled me out. But nevertheless! I packed my kindle and some comfy clothes to prepare if I wanted to tag along.

Then, 2 days before the flight, I woke up with a dry throat. You know those ones that come and go some mornings, you just know you mouth-breathed all night long. You gargle, chow down some breakfast, drink some water, and before lunchtime you forget it even happened.

This time I didn’t forget. By the end of the day my throat was itchy and raw, my uvula swollen; it hurt to swallow.

We charge on into Thursday, The Day Before. My throat is the same raw hell, and my face hurts. Predominantly my head hurts, right across the eyebrows. In the evening I get the sniffles.

Friday morning rolls in and I feel much the same. A long hot shower clears everything out, though, and I get dropped off to start The Weekend.

We flew in on Friday afternoon, 2 lots of us meeting at the airport. When we caught up, we laughed at the huge line for bag drop-off with our carry on luggage. I’d like to say we breezed through the security checkpoint but that’s a lie. The brides mother beeped thanks to some pins, I beeped – not sure what for – but was waved through. 1 of the others was pulled aside for having 2 lighters, another for a pocket knife that met regulations but they just wanted to have a look, and finally a craft knife was confiscated from another. A band of miscreants on our merry way.
We board the flight after the disaster that was the security checkpoint. With us we have a first time flyer. Nervous, but handling it well. The excitement she experiences makes everyone laugh, I’m not sure about the rest but it slightly brought back the awe to me that we can fly. Then a splitting headache occured, searing pain behind my left eye. A short flight, we were already on the descent. We blamed cabin pressure changes and blocked sinuses. I couldn’t hear properly. Such fun.

Touchdown, which feels marginally better but my head is intermittently reminding me of its issues. My nose starts running like a faucet and I thank Pete for getting me packs of pocket tissues.

My jacket is missing. My absolutely favourite jacket I own, the only one that really goes with the dress I’m wearing out for dinner. There’s a photo of me wearing it right before we go through the security gate, I remember taking it off to put through the trays in the xray, I don’t remember picking it up. I call the airport and nothing has been handed in that matches the description, but they said to try again tomorrow as security checkpoints usually do a once-a-day clear out.

We roll out. Over to the apartments. We have a 3 storey townhouse, 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms for the 7 of us. Heaven. We pick up our keys and wait for the elevator. And wait. And wait. This is the slowest elevator I think I ever will encounter. It turns out that only 4 people + luggage can fit at a time, so 3 of us wait again. And some more. And we wait. Finally, it comes back around to pick us up, and as we step in it tried to shut on my shoulder.

Yep, The Shoulder. Because it was so slow while we patiently waited, but it can’t let three people enter without impatiently trying to shut itself off again. Stupid.

So, we settle in, divide up, get some groceries done, and get ready to enjoy a movie.

I blow my nose and the tissue is red. Just red. I tell the girls not to worry about pausing the movie and sit in the bathroom ebbing the flow. It calms down, I head back downstairs. This process repeats twice more.

I can’t believe my luck! Why this weekend, Wellington? I skip the activity on Saturday to have a hot, hot shower, and a nap. I miss the girls come home from circus training and go out again to the cable car.

All is well, though. The hot shower has left me feeling a little better, and catching up on some sleep that I didn’t really get the night before thanks to catching up with my roomie and then coughing fits the night through hasn’t hurt either. We get ready for dinner out, with Karaoke to follow.

I say I won’t join the karaoke, thanks to the illness. Alas, the song choices are incredible and I really just have to rap some Eminem up in here. We blast it out, walk home, and crash.

Sunday is heading home day. I’m feeling a lot better, and I’ve called the airport again who, in a very unconvincing tone, advise there’s a jacket that “matches my description”. They chucked my name on it and said to check with lost and found at the International terminal.

We head home after an amazing hot dog, and head on over to the international terminal while we wait for our ride.

Through the gates into the terminal, at information we are turned around and told to go NEXT to the gate entrance. Nerves build. Will it be MY denim jacket with leather sleeves? (How many, really, got lost THAT weekend? If it were a black Kathmandu puffer jacket I would be screwed)

My voice has completely gone, someone at work having mentioned I’m “awfully quiet today” with my response being “beacuse my voice sounds like this” followed by acute laughter.

My delight at seeing my jacket come through the doors was a sharp inhale and an ear-to-ear grin.




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