I like to think that I fit pretty much every requirement to be your standard basic. Pretty much everything that would make one say “oh em gee, that shit’s basic” is a task that I have proudly completed. All except one: studying abroad. No one takes you seriously unless you spend a few months in Europe, drinking your way through another country’s culture and developing a bad accent. So here I stand, simpleton who has never crossed the pond.
I had the opportunity to, of course. My university does offer study abroad programs, just like pretty much every other college in America. I considered, briefly, taking a semester in Germany. I found a school I adored and had already begun mentally preparing myself to leave my friends for a few months, when I suddenly realized I had way too much FOMO to actually miss out on all the things happening here.
So, being the princess that I am, I asked my dad for a graduation trip. It seemed like a win-win. I could ask my dad to come and therefore would have all of my meals/museum visits/shopping trips funded while I could put all of my own money into things like bars and an elaborate beer maiden outfit to rack in the Instagram likes (and male attention). Finally, Germany was going to be mine.
There were a few obstacles, if we’re being honest. For starters, I kind of have a love-hate relationship with beer. Meaning, of course, that I love to talk about how much I hate that vile piss water. If there is a redeeming quality to beer, I have yet to find it. The problem with that is, however, there are only two types of girls who hate beer. The typical annoying girls who special request vodka and ruin the fun for everyone, or the girls who are so hot that guys don’t even mind it. I own a mirror. I am not in the latter category.
This might seem like a pretty big hurdle, seeing as I’m pretty sure Germany’s definition of water is just light beer. But my mom didn’t raise a quitter. If there’s anywhere in the world a girl as uncool as myself could learn to love beer, it’s Germany. My game plan was treat it the same way I learned to appreciate dick in high school- by choking it down until it you get used to it.
The second thing I was lowkey worried about was the cuisine. I’m by no means a vegetarian, but I’m not a sausage fan in the slightest. But I figured I’d just cross that bridge when I came to it.
You can imagine my excitement. My years of yearning and planning were finally becoming a reality, and I could practically taste the German chocolate on my tongue. So, then, you can imagine the heartbreak I felt when my dad told me point blank that the trip was off. Betrayal is never something you can prepare for.
I begged my dad to reconsider, to give me an explanation on how he could just shit on my dreams like that. Well, turns out my dad’s reasoning was pretty solid. My dad is a pretty cool dad who doesn’t get angry about things like watching me get shit faced in bars. Because of this, he knows my drunk alter ego pretty well. So well, that after some thought he refused to take me on a trip where I would “bitch the entire time about wanting wine and pizza, and how much I hate beer.”
He made the executive decision to change my trip to Italy, in order to adequately satify my drunk needs. So maybe I’ll never be a cool girl who can chug a beer with the guys without choking and/or crying. But at least I’ll have an opportunity to stuff my face with various breads and cheeses, all while getting a head start on my wine mom future life..
Image via Shutterstock