I’ve already warned you we are the absolute worst.
Y’all, there’s no way we didn’t make the naughty list this year.
When last I left you, I was not going to be a sky pirate captain because my husband is a quitter—a died-in-the-wool giver-upper who never supports my dreams.
I am, as it happens, still not a sky pirate captain.
I am, however, a person who has literally paid for a hotel by the hour, (though I’m sure the good people at Ramada don’t advertise this service) upgraded herself out of the best flight ever, and—because I love you—snapped a photo of the most mockable woman in all of Georgia.
Here’s what happened:
Here is how fucked up and disorganized I am:
I wrote that Monday night and published it on Tuesday. My actual flight was Tuesday afternoon.
Cut to me frantically throwing whatever’s reasonably clean into a carryon, because I have a feeling about this trip and I do not want to check any bags.
And now for the thrilling conclusion of our Greek saga. It is Wednesday, October 4, 1995.
Husband, you will recall, is in Frankfurt, Germany (where he is not supposed to be) on his way back from Bangor, Maine, USA (where he was not supposed to be). He is supposed to be getting his ass back to Skopje, Macedonia, but the borders have been closed until further notice.
He is, for those of you who cannot be arsed to read the previous two stories(1 & 2), utterly fucked. And we haven’t even gotten to the part where he negotiates with shady characters, gets bartered away like a Rölexx watch, and bluffs his way past certain death under bright lights and the watchful eye of a half-dozen itchy trigger fingers.
Let us return to the Before time, the long long ago… before Husband was my husband… before we were even dating, actually. Because I was in high school, and he was really into women who were… well, women.
Now he’s just into me.
I’m home again, yay! Don’t worry, I learned a lot on this trip. For example, I now know that I need to be way more careful when promising the young hotel desk clerk that I’m “willing to do whatever it takes.”
But now I have bites all over my legs and butt from drinking all night.