Round & Around

I’d love to write a scintillating recap of my weekend with my family – which was glorious, by the way, and full of fun meals, playing Boggle with my mom and tripping over (and taking out) a giant stack of Maeve Binchys at a used bookstore while my mother laughed so hard I thought I’d killed her – HOWEVER, I am forced to address more pressing issues, such as the fact that the friendly folks at US Airways lost my bag. The bag I only checked because I wanted to bring liquid hair product across state lines. Yet another way that terrorists are giving it to us right up the pooper.

Now, I realize that LOTS AND LOTS of people lose their bags, and I guarantee that all of you have lost your bag at least once and I am being a whiny little pain in the ass about this, but I’m still irked. I know I have no right to be, given that there wasn’t anything more valuable in there other than an outlet-procured Donna Karen skirt and an alarming number of Threadless t-shirts and so whatever.

What’s unfortunate is that this means that you won’t get to see any of the pictures I took over the weekend of exciting Pennsylvania-like things such cows, goats and barn cats (yet. YET!), because the downloading thingamabob is in my luggage which is….well, we don’t know where it is, do we? And you probably don’t care. But would it intrigue you more to know that one of those cows was named after me? ME?

Me neither.

God, it was only three days, but it felt so long, and after I came home, I skipped so happily happily happily! into the house to see everyone and oh look, my husband! How I love you! Sunny! Snapper! The love, it was overwhelming! And then I was immediately assaulted with something more overwhelming than my love. Something very…potent. And familiar. And very, very expensive. Something that I could only describe as smelling like “me.” Shit. It smelled like fucking Quelques Fleurs Royale.

According to Adam, the entire bottle broke on the kitchen floor* after the cat knocked it over and seriously? I might throw up. Not just because it is nauseatingly expensive (though I bought mine on eBay, so please don’t stone me when you see the price PLEASE), but because while at first sniff our home smells like like a garden-fresh vanilla grapefruit grove, an entire bottle is…well, it’s sickening, and it’s everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. I’m lying in bed right now and the powerful wafts are wafting right up to my miserable little nose. Nowhere is safe. It’s so overwhelmingly potent – like living downwind of Donatella Versace -and it’s highly unlikely that I will ever buy another bottle or ever ever wear it again. The end.

Oh and separately, yet related, I was behind a young kid in security this morning at the Philadelphia airport, and after going through the x-ray machine, we were both stopped for a random bag search. Well, mine was random, but his was not so much “random” as it was “completely deliberate, you fucking clueless moron” because he had four tubes of Crest toothpaste and – I shit you not – 10 bottles of Axe shower gel and two bottles of body spray in his backpack. The backpack he planned to carry on the plane. Where has this young man been living? A cave where they serve up bad bath products and send you on your merry way? Axe? AXE. And four tubes of toothpaste. Because Axe will turn his pimply little ass into Nick Lachey, and he needs to be prepared.

Until tomorrow when, baggage Gods willing, I shall bring you very (VERY!) exciting pictures of cows and emus and chickens, oh my! Did you know emus’ claws have the power to eviscerate us? Yummy.

*I took it out of my luggage at the last minute. Hence, why the perfume was in the kitchen. No, we do not usually keep it there.

**Alana Davis

16 comments August 20th, 2006