Two Years Earlier
They only kept going round and round on an infinite loop, the identical crimson knapsack, inexperienced duffel bag, and bungee-corded brown field circling the room like refugees stuck on a Ferris wheel. My husband Karl’s suitcase appeared immediately, loaded with Etro striped shirts,
Ferragamo loafers and his prized Dries Van Noten sports coat. But after two hours of waiting, frantically jumping from one baggage carousel to another as a smattering of arriving flights touched down, it grew to become painfully clear that I can be spending the subsequent ten days in
Italy caught with the clothes I had on my back: a BO-infused green T-shirt with a pink heart silk- screened throughout the front, a pair of jeans that have been decorated with various in-flight meal mishaps and highlighter-yellow slipper-sneakers. Not even my carry-on bag may save me — all it contained, besides my wallet and passport, was a handful of Dramamine, a horseshoe- formed neck pillow and a dogeared copy of Thomas Mann’s appropriately titled “Loss of life in Venice. “
It wasn’t like this the final time Karl and i were in Italy. Two years earlier, I had an entourage of luggage when we made our manner from Rome to the Amalfi coast to attend the marriage of Karl’s good buddies, Eric and Shana. Again then, my a number of baggage had been jammed with all the things from the filmy peignoir set I had planned to tug out on our first evening in Rome to the total-length decide’s robe I had volunteered to transport to Positano, a favor to the Officiant (who later admitted he wanted the extra area in his own suitcase for a postwedding procuring spree in Milan). As an alternative of asking myself, ‘Do I actually need all those footwear ‘ I told myself as I demolished my condo in a state of packing frenzy, ‘You will be ready for something’ — from a freak snowstorm to the sweltering heat that this new love held for me.
After all, all this overzealous preparedness was probably a approach of managing my anxiety, a belief that as long as I packed that pair of silk cargo pants, those fourteen tubes of lipstick, and, I am embarrassed to admit now, a spare roll of bathroom paper, I might someway handle
to keep away from another type of journey emergency, one ferragamo silver pumps the place my new boyfriend determined he didn’t actually care for my firm after spending five consecutive days together with his plus-one wedding date. Karl and i had been seeing each other for just a few months, and up until our Italian
getaway, we had spent solely a handful of weekends together, lolling round in bed or on considered one of our respective couches watching reruns of “Household Guy.” This journey required putting on actual clothes and remaining upright for an extended time frame, negotiating territory past our common haunts in D. C. and sharing a bathroom with a handheld showerhead and a door that did not lock or do a lot to dam out certain, er, noises.