… is not waking up at 6am to head to the airport. Hell is not paying an obscene amount for a cab because you have no car and the town is too small for a direct bus and 6am is too early to beg anyone to drive you the two hours to Ciampino. Hell is not trudging through a packed airport, standing for 15 minutes on one line only to be told that it is the wrong line. Hell is not dealing with Ryan Air.
This is hell:
Hell is getting into the proper line, seeing a random, lone kitty cat just, you know, chilling on the counter of the Bureau de Change, and NOT BEING ABLE TO PLAY WITH IT BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS CRAP:
Inching closer and closer to the counter, craning my neck backwards every few feet – IS IT STILL THERE?! WILL IT STILL BE THERE WHEN I’M DONE?! KITTY! – and watching the cat dip its neck to delicately lick its paws and, somehow, lick its belly all without budging from its patch of counter. Stripey and beautiful, weird and ridiculous. I can’t tell you how much I adore cats. I can’t tell you how much I miss mine. Never mind what a CAT is doing hanging out at an airport currency exchange counter. Never mind that I’m an Atheist and don’t believe in Hell. THIS IS HELL AND I HAVE FOUND IT. A cat is miraculously and wonderfully here – so close! so very close! – and I’m separated from it by a massive line. Hell. Alanis Morisette Isn’t It Ironic Hell.
Wait for me, kitty. I’m coming.