Tote Tales

A few weeks ago GFR spied my turquoise tote sprawled on the carpet beneath my computer desk and inquired as to its origin. I was only too happy to recount that memorable tale of its acquisition. April Fools Day proved to be unforgettable in more ways than one. a) Daylight Savings Time commenced, b) We were flying back to the USA where nasty tornadic supercells gleefully awaited our Totoland arrival, and c) I was tearfully leaving my beloved “S” in the DR.

It all began with the ride to Santa Domingo’s airport with “S” at my side. The closer we got to the complex, the faster the glistening teardrops rolled down my cheeks, causing constant swipes at the roll of toilet paper perched on the console of the van. By the time we entered the crowded airport, I was having a full-blown, head-turning cryfest with all present staring at the blubbering American sobbing uncontrollably. (yeah, Drama Queen Circe) Hence, it was with watery, swollen eyes that I stumbled my way through the ticket line and DR customs and dejectedly settled down in the chair at the gate. Well, the first gate as we switched gates THREE times before the ‘chicken of decision’ finally pecked out a permanent one we might use to fly out from. With an hour delay ahead of us, I forlornly surveyed my surroundings and fresh anguish washed over me as the crying jag kicked in afresh. As I had made my way through the gauntlet of shops lining either side of the hallway, I managed to take a sideways glance at a particular one selling purses, accessories and delightful totebags. In a concerted effort to appease his heartbroken flying companion, TBC gamely agreed to my returning to this place of business and purchasing a lovely turquoise tote. Though the tears had briefly abated, upon returning to the chairs my misery welled up anew and I realized drastic measures must be taken immediately to overcome my tidal wave of grief. New carrier in hand, I determinedly marched to the ladies loo where I locked myself in a stall and guzzled down a small emergency bottle of Chardonnay discreetly tucked into my bulging carry-on. The soothingly amber liquid worked its appropriate magic as my jumbled emotions settled down and inner calm prevailed. In short order the sun peeked out from behind the storm clouds, my smiling countenance basked all in its benevolent light, and witty banter was exchanged with my fellow travelers. Though a day fraught with emotion and stress, for the remainder of the arduous trip, peace reigned in Circeland.


The Topfive.com’s 5 Signs Your Car Needs Washing

5. The kids seem really freaked-out by those blood stains in the Bronco.

4. Visits to the farm always result in pigs humping your tires.

3. Kids write "PLOW ME!" on your trunk.

2. When you blow the horn, prairie dogs pop up from the hood.

1. That rank smell coming from under all those McDonald's bags? The missing baby!!!