Not really… I actually just had three days off to take my girlfriend Becky to a fancy-schmancy hotel for her birthday. I’ll go into the full details and pictures some other time; but for now, I’ll leave you all with the emasculating highlight for me.
We arrived in the lovely room in the lovely hotel that I had lovingly booked for us, and next to the giant jacuzzi, was a bottle of champagne on ice, with a message saying “Happy Birthday – Love Felix”. Fucking boyfriend points, right?
Anyway, things are going well… She’s swooning and happy and what not. We parade around the room all joyously, and I’m looking like a decent boyfriend for once. I then went to open the bottle of champagne. Here’s where shit went south.
Now, I’m a barman. I’ve opened ten thousand bottles of champagne. I know when someone else has accidentally shaken it up, and so I know that it wasn’t my fault that as soon as I touched the cork, it exploded, sprayed everywhere, fired out of my hand, rocketed across the room, and spilled its guts all over the floor and wall.
Again, it wasn’t my fault! It was shaken up! Still though… It would bloody happen wouldn’t it? Luckily, after we’d failed to gather up the courage to explain the situation to the hotel staff, they mistakenly brought us another bottle the following morning anyway, not knowing which day was her Birthday. We didn’t get double charged, we didn’t get in trouble, and it all turned out fine.
But then… The holiday couldn’t go off without at least one massive pain in the arse, right?