Barbara

Ever had a friend that didn't deserve the title? You know, the kind that borrows your favourite stonewashed jeans and returns them stained, or worse, torn, then just shrugs. The type of bitch that would gut punch you at a party just to get everybody laughing. Yeah, I hear ya, bully suits better than friend, but sometimes there's no escaping either. That's Barbara. Fiery, mouthy, shows up when least expected, Barbara. 

I met her not long after finishing primary school. All the other girls from my class and street were away on their sunny family holidays before starting the new grammar schools. Father kept telling me this would be the last summer of my childhood and to enjoy it. As if secondary school really caused such a rippling wave over my later life. Just another social pressure.

So there I was just minding my business at the local food court, me and mum had been buying new clothes to accommodate my most recent growth spurt. The way father eye rolled when handing over the cash before we left the house you'd think I grew on badness just to annoy him.

Regardless, mum had slipped back to the burger stand for a free refill of fizzy, not that she wanted it, but that woman could never say no to anything free. Just ask our supposed undumpable clutter of an attic if you don't believe me. That's when Barbara first appeared, just staring at me, making me feel awkward, embarrassed almost. 

When mum returned and I introduced them she seemed so pleased. Grinning from ear to ear and saying we should all go home. Father didn't like my new friend, not one bit, he just flicked up his newspaper, and grunted.

Any who, how I got to know her doesn't really matter, all that does is from that day forth she would show up and we would laze about, playing sonic on the sega, listening to the top forty charts, reading shoot magazine. All that typical shit us nineties kids did. But boy did she have a knack for saying the wrong thing to the wrong people.

We went through school together, completed our exams, took a year out, then on to university. Her temper never let up though, it might have gotten worse now that I think about it. There's something about being constantly around an absolute bastard like that, you start making excuses for them, start to get used to them. It wasn't her fault, she didn't mean to be so aggressive it's just the way she was, her nature. Typical abuser and abused relationship.

Near the end of my third year at university, I met David, tall, blue eyes, dark hair, and an absolute stoner. Something about them half asleep dark ringed eyes just drew me in. How did we meet? Are you ready for the meet cute of the century? Steady yourself….

A friend of a friend gave me his number to buy weed. Wow, now that is a romance story you don't see in the films. Didn't I mention I was an art student living away from home? Although it ended up being more beer than Bob Ross, more joints than Jackson Pollock, more…. I think I've painted you enough of a picture here wouldn't you say? Early two thousands stoner gothy hippy chick, we all clear now. Good.

Point being, David would call round, we'd get wasted and rewatch this VHS I had of Friends of all things, or Goodfellas. I did all my best flirty moves but it seemed David was just as shy as me. Three months into our budding pot selling customer relationship it blossomed into a more friendly let's get drinks at the weekend, until finally he kissed me. About damn time, David! Men, am I right ladies?

It wasn't long after that we moved in together and the rest is history as they say. Seven years later, four houses, and several jobs in between he proposed. Now no one would ever call me the girly girl type but still it was a nice surprise on a rather mundane Christmas. 

I didn't want a big wedding, something simple would have done me, a registry office, small crowd, big party. But nope, he wanted the church, and speeches, and that third cousins children no one remembers the names of. So fair enough, that's what we did, with one additional caveat - the honeymoon was mine to plan. 

The Mediterranean always appealed to me, all those great and ancient cultures all crowded around the edge of one body of water. So much to see, so much to do. I spent weeks researching, reading reviews, making lists. More effort than I ever put into the ceremony truth be told, but what was the big deal, white dress, man in black says his imaginary friend blesses you, your name changes from Miss to Misses then everyone gets stupid drunk. Bish, bash, bosh. Job done.

So our summer wedding came and went with the honeymoon lingering just a few weeks away. I didn't want to leave immediately for one very good reason - Barbara. I had checked her schedule, double checked mine, then triple checked hers. This holiday would just be me, David, rum, sunshine, and too much sweaty sex to shake a stick at. Simple as. No third wheels required. No uninvited guest. 

Never having flown before I felt quite high class stuck in economy, staring out that little oval  window and never letting go of David's hand. The seatbelt light pinged, trolleys rolled, and smiley hostesses offered out the most overpriced crap no one ever wanted. It was our honeymoon though, so let the extortionate and yet tiny rum and cokes roll.

The second libation however set off my Spidey sense, and to my horror Barbara's voice floated like a nasal wheeze from the back of the cabin. Or was it in my head? Yes, I must have been imagining, there was no chance she could be here. My guts twisted, as if the coke bubbles were filled with little daggers, stab stabbing at my stomach, letting me know what I dreaded. Who even does that, puts microscopic knives inside lemonade bubbles. Sinister bastard's.

And why are planes so warm and uncomfortable? A few hours in and my hair was sticking to the back of my neck. And when the hell did the air hostesses sneak aboard a donkey and let it kick me in the small of my back? Her voice came again, pounding my temples.

I had to know, I shuffled out to the aisle, a hostess calling that they are landing soon. I ignored her and marched to the back, handbag clutched tight. Throwing open the tiny toilet I dropped into the hard plastic seat, shuffled off my lovely new silk pants. 

So that was that. Why had no one ever told me flying could do this? Sex out the window, swimming was a nope, long walks, we'd see. I could almost hear the lingerie I bought and packed giggling from the cargo hold. I stretched my pants out, there she was, the ruiner of my plans, Barbara the blob.

I wanted to cry, but that was just the hormones, there was nothing to be done now, so I laughed. All I could think was, fuck you Barbara. Fuck you.