I haven't even shaken the sand out of my suitcase when the invitation comes to pack it up again.
The South Side girl is headed to Lake Geneva with a trio of 12-year-old girls and wants some drinking age company to offset the Justin Bieber soundtrack.
I really should get back to work but I have never been to Switzerland, so how can I say no?
It turns out that Lake Geneva is actually in Wisconsin, which is way closer. And full of cheese. I am a fan of cheese, so there is one more obvious reason to put off my return to
bra-wearing the non-vacation life.
Besides, short notice cheese tourism is one of the few benefits of earning your living as a secret agent figure skater sketch comedy writer and freelance journalist. And by "earning a living" I mean making enough money to buy truck stop cheese in the shape of Wisconsin. Because that is how cheese tourism is done.
There is also a cheese wine, but the South Side girl shakes her head so violently when I pick it up that I have to return the bottle to the shelf. Now, as you can imagine, I am kicking myself. It would have made a nice entry in the wine log next to Key Lime and Mango Mama - two sentimental favorites.
She makes it up to me later by taking me out for better wine and coaching me on the art of picking up sailors. I get one on my first try. He is just a cartoon sailor, but it's a start.
Not to boast, but your truck stop sailor and I have been an "item" for a while now.
Which is my nice way of saying: been there, done that, nailed it shut.
PS-Has he tried the 'Would you like me to cut the cheese?' joke on you yet?
Posted by: eurolush | August 27, 2010 at 09:07 AM
You certainly do get around. Your passport must be nothing but ink and pastry smears.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | August 27, 2010 at 10:50 AM
Wow, Bossy was wondering what happened to Popeye. She's been looking for him on VH1's Behind The Music.
Posted by: BOSSY | August 27, 2010 at 11:49 AM
I can only hazard a guess about the pronunciation of "BRAT STOP." If I'm wrong, I either wouldn't ever stop there or I'd be forced to stop there, take your pick.
Posted by: foolery | August 27, 2010 at 12:14 PM
I hope you switched to your fake WI license plates at the border. We don't like FIBS up here, and we're not afraid to show it.
(Says the former Northwest Suburbanite)
Posted by: Sue | August 27, 2010 at 02:41 PM
I was hoping to run into you in one of those trendy Wisconsin cheese bars just off the interstate. I figured you might let me order the cheese wine without ridicule.
Also, I have never worked for the FBI, I swear.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | August 27, 2010 at 03:51 PM
It's actually prounounced "brahht" (long A) as in bratwurst. Brats are kind of our thing up here, next to beer and then next to cheese, of course.
(Which reminds me... you really ought to try a cheese brat boiled in beer. They rock.)
And, not to brag, but I went to a wedding reception at the Brat Stop years ago. It was a lovely affair, but not enough for me to want the word "brat" on my own wedding invitations.
Posted by: Seriously Jess | August 27, 2010 at 06:03 PM
Oops. About the baby shower invitations... It was just that we heard you had a serious craving for cheese.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | August 28, 2010 at 11:44 AM
Cheeeses, you got to watch out for those Wisconsin people. My Little Woman is from Wisconsin.
Posted by: Audubon Ron | August 28, 2010 at 12:48 PM