Life is not a race, so cool your jets
I’VE never really been a competitive person.
If you want something, have it. I’m not going to fight you to the death for it.
My wife Holly is the opposite.
When the going gets tough, she gets going.
I just say “Meh” and walk away.
That competitiveness always seems to flow into our relationship.
She has to be the first out the door and in the car, the first into bed, the first to finish a Saturday morning 10km run … you get the point.
Not even our honeymoon could stop Holly’s competitiveness … and she nearly paid the price!
Going up a level in a Berlin train station, I decided to take the elevator.
Holly, on the other hand, wanted to take the stairs.
She went flying up them, determined to beat me to the top.
She duly saluted, getting to the top in record time.
It was at that moment she saw the train standing on the platform. “This one, Ren?” she yelled. “Yup, that’s it,” I replied from about halfway up. Without a second thought Holly jumped on the train. She just had to get on first, didn’t she? What happened next defied logic. Just as I got to the top of the stairs the train doors started to close. Instead of hopping off (like a normal person would), Holly stood there like a deer in headlights. Within seconds the train started to depart. I ran down the platform, frantically yelling expletives at her and the situation.
I had everything. She had no phone, no wallet, no train ticket and, worst of all, no idea about what our hotel was called.
It was at that moment I realised my final words to my wife could possibly be: “You’re a bloody ********!”
As luck would have it Holly was smart enough to get out at the next station and wait.
I got there as quickly as I could, steam smoking from my ears as the train slowed down and I saw her standing on the platform. Her face hadn’t changed from the moment the train had left the platform at the station before — she looked like a stunned mullet.
But at least she was a safe stunned mullet.
I hope she learnt her lesson … but I doubt it.