They simply stored going round and around on an endless loop, the identical pink knapsack, inexperienced duffel bag, and bungee-corded brown box circling the room like refugees caught on a Ferris wheel. My husband Karl’s suitcase appeared instantly, loaded with Etro striped shirts,
Ferragamo loafers and his prized Dries Van Noten sports coat. However after two hours of ready, frantically leaping from one baggage carousel to a different as a smattering of arriving flights touched down, it became painfully clear that I would be spending the following ten days in
Italy stuck with the clothes I had on my again: a BO-infused green T-shirt with a pink coronary heart silk- screened across the front, a pair of denims that have been decorated with varied in-flight meal mishaps and highlighter-yellow slipper-sneakers. Not even my carry-on bag could save me — all it contained, in addition to my wallet and passport, was a handful of Dramamine, a horseshoe- shaped neck pillow and a dogeared copy of Thomas Mann’s appropriately titled “Dying in Venice. “
It wasn’t like this the final time Karl and that i had been in Italy. Two years earlier, I had an entourage of luggage after we made our manner from Rome to the Amalfi coast to attend the marriage of Karl’s good associates, Eric and Shana. Back then, my a number of luggage have been jammed with every little thing from the filmy peignoir set I had deliberate to drag out on our first night time in Rome to the complete-length choose’s gown I had volunteered to transport to Positano, a favor to the Officiant (who later admitted he wanted the additional space in his own suitcase for a postwedding purchasing spree in Milan). As a substitute of asking myself, ‘Do I really need all those shoes?’ I told myself as I demolished my condominium in a state of packing frenzy, ‘You will be prepared for anything’ — from a freak snowstorm to the sweltering heat that this new love held for me.
In fact, all this overzealous preparedness was probably a means 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 rest room paper, I’d by some means manage
to keep away from another sort of journey emergency, one where my new boyfriend determined he didn’t really care for my company after spending five consecutive days with his plus-one wedding date. Karl and i had been seeing each other for just a few months, and up till our Italian
getaway, we had spent solely a handful of weekends together, lolling round in mattress or on one in every of our respective couches watching reruns of “Family Guy.” This trip required putting on precise clothing and remaining upright for an prolonged time frame, negotiating territory beyond our regular 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 sure, er, noises.