OK, my life is officially too freaking weird. I was at the airport on Saturday. No seats at my gate, as usual, so I plonked myself on the floor and unwrapped my sushi roll.
Then my phone rang. I answered it and a friend said: “Did you just walk past me at Gate 55 and sit down on the floor.”
Yep. I was on the same flight as a friend. Totally randomly.
How does this keep happening to me?
If you’ll recall, I had a previous airport coincidental meeting with Husband a couple of months ago. He thought I was stalking him, but it was pure, crazy chance.
The world isn’t supposed to be so small.
Yet mine is. It regularly involves bizarre coincidences like randomly running up the back of school dads’ cars on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Or mentioning that I’m going to Los Angeles on the weekend for work and a friend goggling and saying “me too!” And subsequently drinking champagne together in a ritzy hotel. And getting a job doing exactly the same thing as my ex’s you-know-what.
Little things like that.
Actually, come to think of it, the last time I met my airport friend was a bizarre coincidence too. Husband, the kids and I were checking out Peppers at Kingscliff during our Mantra Salt stay in January and we literally ran into her poolside.
A fun, impromptu dinner together followed that night. And a few weeks later Husband and I separated, which must have been her turn to be freaked out because she’d never have guessed during our cheery dinner together that we were teetering on the edge.
No one guessed, really. They thought we were the perfect couple. Goes to show you should never judge a book by its cover.
So anyway, back to the airport. My friend and I had a lovely chat while we waited for the same flight and parted with hugs and promises to meet in our childhood home city, Newcastle, soon. Neither of us live there any more. We didn’t know each other when we did, but it turns out our mums live 5 minutes away from each other.
Not spooky at all.
housegoeshome 
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