Have you ever tried to relax when you’re so embarrassed that all you want to do is climb under a bush, or in my case, into the overhead storage compartment and into someone’s hand luggage? Have you ever tried to relax when you know there are dozens of curious eyes watching you? Dozens of lips curled into smirks, brows raised in query and the sound of whispers all around?

“Oh my God, Tony, look at what that poor girl’s wearing.”

“She must be mad.”

“She’s probably sick.”

“Shame, maybe she’s depressed or schizophrenic or something sad like that.”

Yip, at this stage telling me to "sit back, relax and enjoy the flight", like the overly enthusiastic airhostess was doing, was just not going work. It was like telling a patient at the gynaecologist's office, with her legs up in stirrups, to "relax… you won’t feel a thing".

At least I was able to dispose of the slippers under the seat. Unfortunately, what I wasn’t able to dispose of were my bright pink, practically luminous, pyjamas with the picture of the smiling fork and spoon holding hands plastered across the front, with the slogan that reads Spooning leads to forking.

Sue and Val had given them to me at my bachelorette party. And oh how we’d laughed! Ha, ha! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!

I certainly wasn’t laughing now. Even if everyone else was.

But it was the inevitable toilet-run that I was dreading the most. I’d been holding it in for as long as humanly possible, but with each passing moment, and each pass of the drinks trolley, it was becoming harder. I’d even rejected the free alcohol that had been offered to me in an attempt to keep it at bay. But finally, seven hours into the flight, I realised that my camel-like bladder was failing. And I knew it was time to make the walk of shame.

I glanced in the direction of the loo; my seat couldn’t be further away from it if I’d been sitting on the wing of another airplane. There were at least 30 rows of people between me and my destination. I took a deep breath, trying to psych myself up; it wouldn’t be that bad. I’d already suffered the worst humiliation in the world; this would be a piece of cake in comparison. So what if a hundred people were about to see me in my pj’s. It wouldn’t be that bad? Surely?

I got up, my legs were shaking and my mouth was dry from total dehydration. I started shuffling down the aisle and decided I would smile at people as I went, perhaps if I looked friendly, they wouldn’t notice the blindingly pink pyjamas. But I think the smiling just made it worse…

“Mmmm, yes, definitely from a Looney Bin. Did you see that smile, Tony? It was positively manic.”

I carried on walking; a mother put her hand over her son’s eyes when she saw him starting to figure out what my pyjamas meant. Another mother pulled her child close… she looked frightened. At one point a man gave me a little 'meow' and another one winked. Yeah, yeah, real comedians.

A few seats up a group of Chinese tourists started taking photos of me, as if I were some bearded woman at a freak show. I knew I was wearing pyjamas, but wasn’t that a bit excessive? I threw my head back and tried to look dignified, but inside I was dying.

I was so happy and overcome with relief when I finally reached the toilet that I flung open the door and practically hurled myself inside…

Whack! Thump!

I bumped into something. Very hard. When I finally orientated myself, I came face to face with 'Goth Guy' -- that’s what I’d named him as I’d mentally cursed him for several minutes after our initial contact -- and he was rubbing his head.

“What happened?” I asked. I could see he was clearly in pain.

“I just got beaten up by a girl, that’s what happened”

“But how?” Everything had happened so fast, I wasn’t even sure what had happened.

“Well, you were coming in so quickly, at the exact time as I was coming out, that you hit me and I fell back and bumped my head on the wall.”

I gasped! “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay. It was an accident.” He was still rubbing his head and when he took his hand away, I could see a giant red bump had formed.

“Oh my God! You have a bump.” I was so embarrassed.

“It’s okay. I’ll get you back when you least expect it,” he said, and shot me a wicked smile.

I felt a shiver shoot up my spine. What was he saying? That when I was sleeping, he was going to creep up behind me and whack me over the head with something hard. I eyed him up and down. If this comment had come from anyone else, I would’ve been able to dismiss it as a joke. But coming from him, I wasn’t sure.

He must have sensed my concern because suddenly he extended his hand.

“Hi. How are you?” He said casually.

I was confused, but reciprocated.

“Fine thanks.” I noticed he had a South African accent, which threw me. In my mind I’d decided he was from Holland -- Amsterdam, where they smoked a lot of weed -- or some really cold, depressed country like Russia.

“We haven’t officially met. I’m Damian.”

AH-HA! Now that was more like it. Wasn’t there a horror movie where Satan’s child was named Damian? This I could work with, I’d expected either a Lucifer, or a Xavier or Beelzebub or something equally evil sounding. My suspicions about him were definitely confirmed.

“I’m Lilly,” I said dismissively. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage interaction with him, especially when I noticed the tattoo on his forearm read 'Depeche Mode'. Mmmm, I knew exactly who they were. There was a girl at university who listened to them; she was very pale, practically translucent, had long black dirty hair, wore fishnet stockings during the day and looked like she was about to suck someone’s blood. Enough said.

He smiled that crooked smile at me again and then walked away. I stared after him, reflecting on the two interactions we’d had.

Bizarre!

Truly, bizarre.

He was the weirdest person I’d ever met.

My bladder gurgled at me, if that’s even possible, and I jumped inside. I’d never been happier to see a toilet in my life and the relief was instant. But when I got up, and caught my reflection in the mirror, I came face to face with what can only be described as a monster.

I stared.

Tilted my head up. Tilted it down.

I turned profile -- hoping the apparition had a better side.

It didn’t.

Black mascara lines crisscrossed my face like a zebra’s stripes, the smeared red lipstick made me look like I had some kind of contagious rash, and my hair was so large and bushy that a family of seagulls could’ve easily moved into it. At the back of my head I could see one poor pearl clip desperately clinging on for life. Suddenly the Chinese tourists and their cameras made sense.

I grabbed a handful of toilet paper, drowned it in water and began rubbing. God I hated waterproof mascara that had set! No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to remove it all. I was also cursing the fact that I’d worn ColourStay lipstick that promised, "48 hours of high gloss colour and shine. For lips that say…kiss me.” Well at least I knew the stuff actually worked, not like some of the other things I’d been conned into buying…

“Apply once a week and lose 100cm from your thigh.”

“Apply daily for lashes that appear 200 x thicker, fuller, longer and stronger”…

Why exactly? So you can go bungee jumping with them?

I sighed. This world was so full of empty promises.

***

Two hours and only two glass of wine later, I started feeling woozy.

Very, very woozy. I looked around and the aisle was undulating. The plane was tilting and the chair I was sitting on had turned to jelly. Very disturbing. Suddenly I heard a “pssst”.

“Hey, pssst! Pssst!”

The noise was coming from the direction of the floor, so I glanced down and that’s when the two pairs of googly eyes winked at me. Really, truly, they winked! One even turned to the other and said something.

“She doesn’t look very well, does she?”

“No, no.” The other bunny said in a British accent. “Pale. Very pale.”

I looked around to see if anyone else had seen that, but everyone’s faces had started melting. I began to panic, my heart started pounding and my palms became very sweaty. What was happening to me? And then I remembered… my brother's little white pills! I’d taken one earlier this morning. Crap! He’d warned me not to drink alcohol.

I was struck by a sudden wave of intense nausea! My head started spinning, my arms felt like they were floating and the bunnies started laughing. The waves of nausea were becoming more and more intense and I didn’t think I could fight it any longer. I looked at the toilet; it was so, so far away.

NO, PAUSE! STOP EVERYTHING FOR A MOMENT. THIS HAS GOT TO BE A JOKE.

There is no way, no way, that this was happening to me! I had suffered through the worst twenty-four hours of my life, and now it was just going to get worse? The injustice of it stung me as I angrily grabbed the sick bag. This was not happening.

Please, please, please, please, please…

If this had been a movie, this is when the director would have cut away to show the reactions on the other passengers' faces.

The woman next to me recoiled.

The man in the row behind me gagged.

The kid to my left started laughing and pointing.

The elderly couple to my right clutched each other and whispered something.

I looked down at my slippers, they weren’t moving anymore and I realised I felt instantly better -- physically that is. Emotionally, I was a total wreck and beyond embarrassment. I started to wonder if I’d been cast in some kind of elaborate reality show where everyone was in on it, except me. A show where the producers were plotting against me, making sure I was having the worst time of my life. Or was it that bitch Karma again?

I felt so alone and put my head in my hands, wishing that the plane would just crash. Or at least that the roof would rip off and that I’d be sucked out. Of course, I didn’t want to land up like those people in the Andes who were forced to eat each other just to survive, still I wanted out. And I wanted Michael. I wanted to be married to him right now and --

“Lilly, are you okay?” It was Goth Guy, and he looked genuinely concerned.

Why did he care? And then in a move that completely surprised me, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I feel a bit better now,” I offered timidly.

“Can I get you a Coke, it’s good for nausea?” But before I’d even replied, Goth Guy was already up and organising one. I was taken aback by the unexpected act of kindness from the strange stranger. Surely he was the least likely person on this plane to care? If you’d asked me a few minutes ago, I would have said that he was probably most likely to steal your handbag and dance naked around a fire in the woods.

He returned with the Coke and cracked it open. I sipped the cool liquid and he was right, I did feel better.

“Thanks.” He was quite close to me now, and I used the opportunity to inspect him further. Although he wasn’t my type, AT ALL, there was something attractive about him in a dirty-Johnny-Depp-Pirates-of-the-Caribbean type of way. I noticed another tattoo on the underside of his non-cuffed wrist, it was a small, pink heart, and it looked so out of place next to the strong geometric lines of the others.

“What’s that?” I was intrigued by it.

Goth Guy glanced down. “It’s for my little sister. She died”

And with that, he was gone.

Clearly I’d offended him and I felt terrible. I’d offended the only person on the entire plane who had been nice to me. I watched him sit down, I was hoping he’d turn around so I could try and communicate a silent apology, but he didn’t, instead he put on his headphones and closed his eyes.