Bathing suit - emergency

light but constant snow, mild, temps minus 4

Lovely dat - large, fluffy flakes. We met Cheryl for breakfast in Sutton this morning. Michael comes in with me, but is banished to the coffee shop area for breakfast with his book or newspaper while Cheryl and I get to sit in the dining room. And get all caught up. How wonderful to have a bosom pal, who seems to always be going through the same angsts, the same challenges and questions and wonderments as I am. We try to figure out why, and what to do about it. We also laugh so hard, and tell each other all the great things happening in our lives. You know, the stuff that sounds like bragging and we're taught not to mention. Well, Cheryl and I tell each other all the unmentionables. Good and bad. And eat eggs and bacon and sip coffee while doing it. And I always come away refreshed and energized.

Michael and I just realized that our loaner car is not insured for trips into the States. this would not normally be a problem, except that we're going to St. Lucia a week tomorrow and will be flying from Burlington, VT. We need to get there. With our luggage.

We can't take the large loaner car - and our other car, as you might know, is a VW Beetle.

So when we got back from breakfast we brought the summer clothes and the suitcases up from the basement. And then tried to stuff the big suitcases into the small beetle, as a test run. Shoving, and pushing and cursing.

Much like what is about to happen when I finish this and go upstair to try to shove my Buick body into a VW beetle bathing suit.

Damn those sneaky pastries. And the bacon. And the eccles cakes. And the medicinal pizzas. etc.

The only way I'm going to get the bathing suit onto my body will be to eat it. Thank God we've rented a private villa so I needn't worry about scaring small children on the beach. Or having someone alert Greenpeace.

We finally did get the luggage in - and then began the struggle to get it back out. We might have to airmail the entire beetle.

Oh well - I have to say, I enjoyed each and every bite - and if this is the consequence, then so be it. I'm fortunate to be married to a man who doesn't seem to care. As long as we're healthy. I think he long since gave up the hope I'd be a trophy wife. Though I suppose it depends what the competition was for.

OK - off upstairs to see how bad it is. God bless spandex.