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The Perfect Storm

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Passport - check, phone - check, headphones - check, charger - "Darling, do you happen to know where I left my phone charger?" I murmured as I kept rummaging through my purse. I used to think of myself as a very simple woman, yet with all the stuff I stored in my purse, the charger always seemed to be missing in action. But, then again, would I ever know where my bloody charger was? Probably not.

 

"Have you checked the living room yet?" Frank yelled from the bathroom, with a slight frustration one might find unnecessary in the already frustrating act of packing.

 

"Yes, Frank, I checked the bloody living room, no need to yell at me," I never did understand Frank's need for perfectionism and keeping things in a tight order. I quite loved my mess for all my life, because where's the fun in perfect? Right, can't find that either.

 

I sensed his arms around my waist before he came to hug me from behind, "Sorry darling, I did not mean to yell at all, it is just a tiny bit annoying that you cannot seem to keep your things together, that's all. But we'll work on that, won't we?"

 

Just as he was about to kiss my shirt-covered shoulder, I escaped his hold, "Right," I replied rather coldly, sympathizing with the weather outside.

 

Frank shrugged, his lower lip disappearing under his teeth, "You cannot possibly be angry with me, Claire?" Not realizing it was a rhetorical question, I was about to reply when he stormed off back to the bathroom. "If we want this relationship to work Claire, we need to compromise. When I say keep your things in order, that's what I expect you to do."

 

My rage started building up, however, fighting before a trip was probably bad luck, so I decided to put this under the rug for now. "Frank," calmly, I continued, "I agree with compromising, but let's continue this discussion when we arrive at the hotel." For added value, I finished with a classic, "Please, darling."

 

Determined not to wait for his response, I retreated to the bedroom in the search for my missing charger. I just could not understand Frank's need to fight all the bloody time. I am getting seriously tired for having to explain my way of living - he was supposed to be my rock for Christ's sake, not the wind blowing me further away from him.

 

Like a cherry on top, my phone started ringing and buzzing in that annoyingly classical iPhone ringtone. Frustrated, I answered without looking at the caller ID, “What?”

 

“Okay,” a female voice said sheepishly, “I hope I am not on yer murder list, ClaireBear,” said the irritatingly perfect voice of a more perfect owner.

 

“Geillis, thank God. I’m sorry, I am just angry that I cannot find the bloody phone charger for the last thirty minutes, and I swear I could kill somebody.” I took a deep breath, then continued, “Preferably Frank.”

 

“Ach, what did he do now?”, before I had a chance to answer, Geillis continued, “I told ye Claire, two years ago if memory serves me right, that he was a boring-old-slow party pooper. Ye need someone fun and young with undying energy that will bring ye to life, instead of pushing ye to an early grave. I also -”

 

“Geillis,” I interrupted, startled by her not so wrong observation, “I do not have the energy to tell you how wrong you are, even though you cannot be more right, nor I have the energy to protect Frank’s virtue, because he does not deserve it, but please talk about anything else.” Another deep breath, “Please.”

 

“Did you check under yer bed?”, perfectly calm voice vibrated through my phone. Frowning, I asked, “What?”

 

“Did you look for the charger under yer bed, Claire,” chuckling, Geillis went on. “Ye know, that thing ye literally just sleep on -”

 

I rolled my eyes so hard, for a second I was scared they would rather not go back. “Thank you, Geillis. Truly. But, I am hanging up now and my sex life is none of your concern, thank you very much.”

 

Every perfection was somehow flawed, arguing that said perfection did not even exist. The great example was Geillis’ perfect voice juxtaposed with her blemished laughter. When I tried to listen close enough, it almost resembled the screeching sound a chalk would make if you were devilish enough to scratch it across a greenboard.

 

After said laughter followed a serious tone, “What sex li-” Before I crossed a line of not being perfectly appropriate, I hung up and bent to look for my charger under the bed.

 

I felt like screaming, frustration turning into depression. Where could it be? It’s a stupid bloody charger, and I would bet my right hand that I left it on the bed, right next to my purse.

 

The huge and the ugly and the very much ancient yellow cuckoo clock, that Frank got as a present from one of his also ancient historian friends, sang eight times, startling me from my depressed revere. As I jumped from under the bed, Frank entered the room, his eyes narrowed on me while confusion lit up his face.

 

“I was looking for my charger, however its eight o’clock Frank, we have to go. The guys are probably waiting for us on the parking lot.”

 

Not giving him time to argue how we could’ve taken a train or flew by a plane, instead of driving a car for “endless hours,” I took my purse from the bed and brushed past him, moving to the main door.

 

“Darling?”, Frank said amused, while approaching the main door and holding a phone charger, “It looks like I accidentally placed your charger in my travel bag. How uncanny of me.”

 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” had I not been in the building hall already, I would have been screaming from the top of my lungs right now. Yanking the bloody charger from the constant source that has driven me crazy for months, I turned on my heels, and spoke coldy over my shoulder. “We will have to work on you differentiating others’ assets from your own, won’t we darling?” I could have been crowned the Queen of Sarcasm right about now.

 

As I pushed through the exit door of my building, I was hit with an icy cold February-yet-classical Edinburgh winter spice, contrasting my flushed-from-anger cheeks and fury-filled eyes.

 

But all the waters in the world calmed as I locked eyes with a man who was like a sun to my rainy day. He was leaning on the back door of his brand new jet-black Range Rover, with his broad shoulders and endless outline of tight muscles peeking through at least three layers of clothing.

 

He was beautifully tall and very manly. His coppery red hair danced about his shoulders, with the wind blowing it all around his head. His deep blue eyes were still locked on my golden ones. We were contrasting in all ways, yet I could argue there were thousands of sparks flying in between us.

 

He sent me his famous smirk, and I was under his spell and happy to be there. I started towards the car, completely forgetting the man behind me, and could not wait for the adventure to begin.