The end is near

Nicky and I are in our final few days in Barcelona, so I'm caught in a multi-day variant of Sunday Slump. You know, that feeling you get at about 5pm on Sunday because you haven't done all you wanted with your weekend, and a whole week is looming over you? Well, this Sunday I leave here with Nicky, spend a week in Atlanta taking the cat to the vet, getting Nicky's checkup, dental appointment, haircut, and all that nonsense done, re-a stocking the house...and then I go back to work. Reality is about to kick me in the ass, and I'm not ready.

So these last few days are bittersweet, particularly as yesterday was a post-Paris, post-travel recovery day that also saw us (minus Greg, who had to work) trotting off to buy a suitcase-packing-impaired Cassie a swim suit.  By the time we had finished that task and dragged home a boatload of groceries, I wanted to slowly pull every hair out of my head. To be more honest, I wanted to drag the kids home by the hair, but some vague fear of prisons kept me from doing so.

But the groceries were a necessity, because many restaurants, stores and businesses were closed today, St. Joan's Day, more accurately called Hangover Day as Catalonians, gone deaf from blasting firecrackers, try to regain non-painful sensations above their necks. 

We headed to the beach today, on a strict mission to observe an entire hungover town, which wasn't particularly crowded, but was actually a bit chilly due to overcast skies and strong breezes bringing "weather." The "weather" took the form of panic-inducing drizzle, creating mayhem as we all ran for the buses to take us back home. Oh, but it's a holiday, so there were fewer buses, and they were all chock full of sweaty, slippery, sandy tourists whose children were howling mad about being ripped from the beach. A hangover cure is NOT best used on a hot, stuffy, steamy bus filled with sticky, salty people.

The beach really wasn't worth all that. It was a nice place to go, and it has the requisite sand and water, but the toplessness was just not my thing. Don't get me wrong. I fully agree that men's bodies and women's bodies are not treated with equal respect and admiration, when they should be. I just don't admire middle-aged, overweight, saggy-boobed women hanging out and chatting while half naked. I'm glad they feel free, liberated enough to expect equal treatment. I agree with that principle. I just don't need to know the state of my friends' lady lumps. I find it hard to take them seriously with body parts hanging out.

I guess that becomes a theme as you take adolescent children to Europe: what do you do with all nudity in arts, and the actual naked people on their towels. How do you explain when people are expected to get naked, and when they might want to for art, and so on.

I explored this deep topic with my kids by saying, "damn, I wish they would cover up all those boobs." So my kids probably will join nudist colonies, just to irritate me.

But not before Sunday. I still have things to do here.

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