let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

It is early in the morning and still dark as we land in Frankfurt. The further north one gets in Europe, the shorter the daylight hours become in winter.

I won’t be surprised if I need to use a miner’s hat with a torch to see things at midday.

It is snowing and everything is covered in a thick white blanket. The place is freezing, but it does look beautiful.

We make our way on the bus to the hotel. I spend the whole ride listening to the kindergarten-crew discuss what high jinks they intend to get up to in the next three days. Considering that everything in town will be shut today, the Captain proposes that we all meet at his room for a few drinks later in the day.

After a sleeping tablet-induced four hours of deep sleep, I awaken to contemplate how I could possibly conjure up an outfit from the bits and pieces inside my wheelie-bag that can only loosely be described as ‘clothes’. At least we won’t be leaving the warm confines of the hotel, so dressing like an eskimo is one thing I don’t have to worry about. I decide to wear my sundress with my new grandma-pants, the dress tucked into it. I look in the mirror, and although the pants are dreadful, the exposed part of the dress does look like a top.

Not too bad – at least from the waist up.

With much regret I slip on my Christmas socks, but rejoice in the fact that my nana-pants cover them, at least when I stand. I cover their remaining gaudiness with my sneakers. I know I don’t require my new scarf tonight, but it is the only piece of new clothing I have bought that looks remotely classy, so I wrap that around my neck. I look in the mirror and try to convince myself that I really don’t look that bad. Yet, I know very well that I look hideous.

At least my hair and make-up are perfect.

The party is in full swing when I arrive at the skipper’s room, and the kindergarten-crew are already a little tipsy and boisterous. In fact I could hear them halfway down the hallway while I was walking to the room. I am sure the other guests will be forgiving. It’s Christmas time, after all.

I pour a glass of wine, say ‘Cheers everybody’ and head to the quietest corner of the crowded room, which just so happens to include Brad, who is standing with our two second officers. Both second officers don’t look old enough to shave, let alone drink, but who am I to judge?

‘Cheers boys.’

I place myself in the best position to talk to Brad. I can tell he is pleased to see me.

‘I didn’t think you were going to make it?’ he smiles warmly.

Trying to act prim and proper, I lie to him, ‘I don’t normally do the whole room-party thing, but it is Christmas.’

Brad flashes me another warm smile. I take this opportunity to take a good look at him; this is the first time, I’m seeing him out of uniform. I am dressed dreadfully by circumstances. Poor Brad is dressed so by choice. He is wearing a cheap knock-off Ralph Lauren Polo checkered shirt (Ralph Lauren has some gorgeous designs, but this Asian copy is not one of them) and a pair of dowdy pants. I look down to Brad’s shoes. As men don’t normally wear jewellery or other accessories I can generally judge a guy’s fashion-sense by the shoes he wears. Brad’s shoes are clean, but look old enough to vote. They might have been considered old-fashioned even back in 1987, the year he probably bought them.

At least he is wearing a beautiful watch. I can tell that it is not a fake, and would have cost a pretty penny. There are two things that the techies don’t usually scrimp on: watches and sunglasses. Everything else though is better bought cheap. He does comment on my nice scarf, and even though this guy doesn’t seem to have one good fashion-bone in his whole body, I am flattered that he noticed my effort. Maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh on him, I think. He is kinda cute.

We drink and talk for hours. We drink and slur for even longer. I haven’t let my hair down this much since a night (and next morning) out with Mary in San Francisco almost a year ago. On that occasion I ended up doing something (well, someone) that I regretted. Mary ended up doing two somethings though, and she didn’t regret it at all.

Tonight is different. It’s Christmas; I am drunk; I like this guy; I am sure he likes me. I try not to overthink the situation.

Brad and I have been flirting for hours, yet we are very much aware of the others in the room. We need to be discreet. By the time we are both so horny that we want to rip off each other’s clothes in full view of the rest of the crew, he leans in to whisper to me, ‘Would you like to me meet me in my room in five minutes?’

I nod innocently, and he whispers his room number. He then lets out a loud and melodramatic yawn, and announces to everyone that he is tired and going to bed. I have seen better acting skills in a Greek daytime soap opera. Five minutes later, I say my goodbyes too and leave. I know that it must be obvious to everyone there that something is going on between Brad and me, but we have made the effort to at least appear to be discrete. That’s enough for me.

I anxiously knock on Brad’s door, and we end up kissing before the door is even shut. We are on the bed before the lock has clicked, and we are naked before I have time to draw a breath.

Even though I am wasted to the point of delirium, I am sober enough to know that Brad is not the most competent lover a girl can ever have. But it has been months, and he does seem like a nice guy. And it is Christmas, a time for making merry.

There are grunts and groans and the occasional ‘Oh yeah!’ but no other words are spoken. It is fantastic.

Merry Christmas, Danielle.