How do you sum up two and a half weeks in the U.S – the most time you (well, I) have spent there on vacation (as opposed to the three weeks I spent there when my mother was dying) since I moved here?
I can’t, except to say: My friends are great, and – I never thought I’d say this – America is great. It’s not perfect, but sometimes it is great.
I love that people are friendly, and frankly, after surly English salespeople, I don’t even care if it’s faux I-want-to-sell-you-something friendly. I love that you can send a blueberry muffin back at Cosi just because you think it tastes like cardboard, which is exactly what I did to prove to a Scottish friend (she was visiting) that it could be done. I love that it can be freezing and miserable in Boston and then you can hop on a plane for $89 and three hours later be in Miami, no passport required. I love (even though I shouldn’t) that it cost me $30 to fill my tank with gas, as opposed to the $100 it costs in London. I love that I can buy contact lens solution at 1 a.m. -- and on a Sunday, no less -- if that's when I realize I need some.
I just got off the plane in London a couple of hours ago, and the thought of summing up my sister’s wedding (though it seems like an eon ago), further career angst brought about by Washington Post interview, the guy I bumped into who I haven’t seen in nine years who remembered what felt like every word I ever said, and the up-until-4-a.m. conversation I had with my grandmother seems too daunting for now. Besides, I didn’t turn my blackberry on the whole time I was away, so I’ve got mega e-mail to catch up on. Oh – and I’m off to Rome tomorrow for the wedding of you-know-who. (And if you don’t know who, I envy you.)
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Last time I was in Cosi (well, two times ago; last time was with you), a woman in front of me was returning her pizza. "I can't eat this," she said. "It's disgusting." Should we be worried about Cosi?
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