The thing is, one of the best things about vacations is the way all rules change.
And the first one to go is D.I.E.T.
The minute I enter an airport, I want a candy bar. I want it, and I have it. I don’t generally crave candy bars on an ordinary day. And when I do, it almost instantaneously dissipates when my brain clicks right into motion with the next intake of oxygen.
But there’s no such thing as calories in airports. Some pass their time thumbing away on the blackberry. Some read. And others catch a wink. I pass the time waiting to board with M&Ms (plain ones only – dread the nuts), Mars and a Kit Kat bar (Heathrow still offers the best tasting Kit Kat but at Rs. 10, India’s Kit Kat is marvellous!) … washed down with a whipped cream topped ice blended Grande mocha regardless of the season.
.Oh… and while queueing in line to pay, I invariably unconsciously pick up a fashion magazine too – the M&Ms of reading material. Whilst it is a widely known fact that I am a Gunter Gass, non-fiction literary reader, I snack on Vogue on the road.
Then, there’s the Dunkin Doughnuts phenomenon. This one is as strange as the flavours and colours they carry.
Only on vacation time – road trips in particular.
The way I look at it, it ain’t me. See, it’s not as if I took a detour to get one. The fact is those double chocolate peanut butter glaze devils are displayed in every 7-Eleven, gas station or Dunkin Doughnut kiosk/cafe in every highway rest stop I decide to pull in. So, really, what’s a girl to do?
Sure, I visit 7-Eleven and gas stations at home, too. But, why do I buy those little devils only on vacation? A-ha, that’s one of travel’s great mysteries.
But the greatest mystery with Dunkin Doughnut is: when on vacation you just wanna try those weird out of this world choices like the monster-green-slimy-“gunk”-oozing out of them. Or, a friend of mine did. Look, he’s a real decent chap – ivy league, great job, head screwed on right on solid shoulders type – but yet, on vacation, it has got to be those green slimy lime ones!
Other than dietary rules, dress rule changes too. Only on vacation.
See, I am a girl and that translates to having a mane as a crowning glory. Marry that with hard water, weather, changes in diet (ok – not much of a side effect here in such a short time, but … it’s my story, so, I write it as I like) … bad hair day is what you get. With so many elements conspiring to make my follicles do strange terrible things they normally wouldn’t do at home, I’ve literally lost the battle on vacations.
So, why fight it (?) I figured. Might as well put on those ugly (UGGs) shoes.
Really. It’s no big deal. My hair is at the eye level (N.B. this theory doesn’t apply when strolling in the land of the giants. read: Scandinavia). With a mangled mess of mane, frankly, maximum damage has been done. So, I’m better off adopting the no-mirror policy and walk proud. Walk comfortably. Walk ugly. I’m on vacation.
Besides, I’ll never see any of these people again, and if by remote chance I do, they probably won’t recognise me with coiffured hair, layers of colours courtesy Bobbi Brown and fashionable shoes anyway.