I know, I know. I didn't update this while we were in Rome. Laptop-free, I thought (mistakenly) that I'd be able to track down a computer at the hotels where we bunked during our weeklong trip. Turns out on the list of How Italians (read: Romans) Are Different Than Americans (read: Swannanoans), lacking a dose of computer obsession is near the top of the list. (More graffiti, coffee and wine obsessed, and that's fine by me. And, really, not so different.)
Now I'm facing a mound of post-trip updating, photo organizing and unpacking. It numbs the mind considering the hours it will take. (I logged many last night and don't have one yet to post for you. But watch here and Flickr.)
But, oh, wait. Scratch unpacking SINCE OUR BAGS DIDN'T MAKE IT BACK WITH US. Pat's didn't make it out of Italy. Mine made it to Newark, but fearing the storms that swooped up the East Coast on Tuesday night, our evening flight to Greenville, S.C. was cancelled. So we literally ran through customs, security and the Newark airport concourses to make the earlier flight. Thank God we did that, considering the weather reports out of the North. Still, my bag got left behind, though I heard today (via four phone calls from the baggage delivery guy -- NOW THAT'S SERVICE) that my little suitcase is waiting at the illustrious Greenville airport for Pat's to show up. They don't know where it is. (This reminds me of the story his family tells of a family vacation to Seattle from Wisconsin where their luggage was sent to JAPAN by accident. Whaaaa???)
Good thing I only took two pair of underwear and one pair of socks, otherwise I'd be in line at the Target buying new clothes. (Kidding. I took THREE pair of underwear, okay?)
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3 comments:
Mankind, feels like y'all were gone for a month. It's my wish that you talk about underwear every day, panty-tracing. That's a good thing. I prolly told you this before but there was a while when I listened to my jukebox on shuffle that Outkast's "Where Are My Panties?" came on all the daggum time. Tonight, this is me playing DJ, I dedicate "Where Are My Panties?" to you, Angelia. I HEART ROME AND ROVE. This is from Frances.
Underpants are important.
Too bad for you and your panties. All that matters is that my ass-kickin RING made it out of Italy! Nobody can take their eyes off it. I guess it helps that I have Latin blood and talk with my hands, so there it is, in everyone's face.
I LOVE my Roman ring.
Grazie, Angelia, mille grazie.
Tua amica, Karen.
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