If we are being observed by aliens, they probably wonder why couples on Earth invent so many ways to be apart while together. The sleep divorce, screen divorce, meal divorce, chore divorce, hobby divorce … “Just split up already!” the beings from Nerfleurg 7 undoubtedly yell at their surveillance screens. However, there’s a new relationship hack in town and it could be the best yet: the airport divorce.
In the run-up to holiday season, is there anybody who didn’t read those words and feel wistful? Even if you’re single, going away with a friend, you can still have an airport divorce. This strategy is as all-inclusive as a resort package.
An airport divorce entails going your separate ways as soon as you arrive at the terminal, navigating what then occurs in your preferred style, then meeting up again at the gate, ready for boarding, fresh as daisies, without having witnessed the very worst of each other.
Yet if some adopt this method, we all have to. What makes the frustration, bewilderment and anger you experience with your airport companions bearable is seeing others who feel the same about theirs, only more so – those visibly seething or openly arguing. But if airport divorces take off, consoling yourself by looking at bickering pairs and thinking: “Well, at least we’re not that bad,” will no longer be an option, because such situations won’t exist. One for all and all for one.
My husband – usually easy-going and relaxed – has a personality transplant the moment he’s within a five-mile radius of an airport. He takes charge, even if begged not to do so. Troops have been led into battle more calmly and with less barking of orders: there’s a strict plan, a timeline calculated to the second and zero permitted deviations.
There is, of course, no chatting, nor dawdling. Any wild ideas of stopping for even a second before we’re through security – to buy some water or go to the loo – dare not be suggested. He strides ahead, speed-walking in triple time like a clockwork toy wound to max while we scramble behind him. If any of our party had an accident, he would leave us for dead. Hesitation is not in the schedule.
If there is a long queue, he’s devastated and incensed, even though, obviously, per his insistence, we have arrived at the airport a full 72 hours ahead of travel. He will shift from foot to foot impatiently, sigh and tut. He cannot be distracted or drawn into conversation about anything else. There is nothing else. Only the airport.
Once we’re through to the other side, you might assume he would loosen up a little, but no. He’s now even more focused and vigilant, because what if there’s a sudden switcheroo that catches us out? A gate change, a time change, an airport change? This normally rational man becomes convinced that the entire aeronautical industry is plotting to sabotage our journey. In reality, it’s probably grateful to him, because if there is a gate change he will yelp, then shriek the breaking news so loudly and urgently that he informs far more passengers more quickly than the information board ever could.
By the time we arrive at our destination, I have aged two decades and feel more in need of a padded cell than a holiday. My husband, conversely, instantly unwinds, fully embracing yet another personality transplant, this time into chilled-out vacation dude. Of course he does.
So although an airport divorce may seem an alien concept, it might just be the answer to a harmonious married life on Earth.
Polly Hudson is a freelance writer
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