Well, since I’ve last been diligent with my blogging, I’ve been very busy. I’ll break it down into manageable portions for you, because it’s kind of a long story.
First of course was the trip to
Obviously, I didn’t die.
But the flights to and fro and all things baggage related were horrendous. We’ll start with the nightmare of just getting the bags to the airport.
Bean picked me up from work, and on the way to the airport, I got a call from Perry (ex-husband) screaming at me asking me where his bags for the weekend were.
How the fuck am I supposed to know?? I was at work all day. Why don’t you look up your ass??
No, I didn’t say that. I told him I didn’t know, and maybe he should look around.
He called back when were looking for parking and told me he thought we had his bags. I turned around and he was right.
Here’s where my superb self-control started to kick in.
Not once did I call Bean an idiot for grabbing the wrong bags. Even though I specifically told him that he had a black
I also did not call Perry a fucktard for putting his bags down right next to Bean’s when he knew that we were leaving for the airport that afternoon or for waiting to call until we were almost to the airport instead of right after Bean left the house.
So we turned around and went home for the bag exchange. And I shit you not, when I asked Perry to get things together for the swap, he actually asked me:
Does this suitcase need to be zipped?
And people wonder why I divorced the dickwhistle.