luton i hate you

So the bf and I went to London this past weekend for a friend's 30 birthday celebration. Because tickets on the Euro star leaving Saturday and coming back Sunday are ridiculously expensive I went with easyjet and thought myself lucky when I found roundtrip tickets for 50 euros.

It was only when I arrived at Luton airport when I realized, hey, wait a minute, I've been here before and the last time I was here, I swore to never fly into Luton again.

Why?

Calling Luton Airport a "London" airport is like calling BWI a "D.C." airport. Shit is far. I guess if you have a nice long leisurely stay in London it's not a big deal but when I've gotten up at 5:30am that morning and have to leave the next day it's kind of painful.

But of course things could always be worse which I realized the next day when not only was I dead tired and having to go to this stupid airport but I was also hungover which ill-ed prepared me for (or was the cause?) of the epic journey back t Paris the next day:

1. We get to the bus 10 minutes early so the bf goes into the convenience store to buy something to eat. Bus arrives right when he goes into the store. I am screaming and waving like a mad woman trying to get his attention because I can't run across the busy street because I have all the bags. In the end I have no choice and run across the busy street with all the bags. Meanwhile bf is trying to choose between muffins or apple tart.

2. We fall asleep on the bus and almost miss the stop.

3. We sit around waiting for our gate to appear on the screen only to find out 20 minutes before our gate closes that we don't find out our gate number until AFTER going through security.

4. We stand in the long security line and I notice a sign that says "Give yourself 40 minutes to get to the gate" (we have 15 minutes left) when I hear someone yell "Has anyone lost a passport?" and realized, it's me who has lost her passport.

5. Bf forgets water in his bag and is delayed at security

6. We finally get through and I quickly check our gate which was gate 2 and we run like madmen down the labyrinth of gates that for some reason go from the highest number to the lowest.

7. I am outrun by bf whose legs are twice as long as mine. While catching my breath I check again the gate number and realize our gate is actually 17 (which we ran past 5 minutes ago) and not 2. I go running down the labyrinth screaming bf's name like a madwoman the second time that day to no avail and have to go to gate 2 to retrieve him least I leave him behind (I seriously considered it).

But alas we made it on to the flight and back in Paris. I was in bed by 9:30 that night.

Never. Again.