Unadulterated pity party: I didn’t get to go to Italy. Last minute trip to the doctor for codeine-laced cough syrup yielded a strong warning not to get on a plane. Fortunate is the person I would have been sitting next to. I am a passenger’s worse nightmare.
So, no me sitting in a cafe with a double espresso, bottle of mineral water, a book in my lap, notebook on the table, writing what was sure to be the best work of my life. No me crossing a piazza in my Chrome Hearts taking in the glorious rosey stone of Bologna, the open markets, or catching a ride on a Vespa. No dining with Italian publishers and trying to sort the wives from the mistresses. No fun at all.
Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It |
Betsy Lerner 
Oh, boo! That sucks…went to Venice myself this summer, first time ever, and am longing to go back.
Feel better.
So sorry you missed out on your trip. What a rip-off. I hope your ticket was refundable — or at least that you can reschedule the trip. And I hope you’re feeling better.
😦
Strong warning by a doctor? They’re all control freaks.
But you can still load up on Cinzano! You know what they say: Feed a cold, starve a fever, get hammered when you’ve got the blues.
Or, at least that’s what my mother taught me.
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