So maybe Matt's a little panicked, and maybe I should be, but right now, I'm just so thrilled to be only two days away from finishing work and only sixteen days away from flying out! His research about the walking is fantastic, but I'd like it all a little more solidified. That's fine though, I'm being brave, right? Also, we're going to STA Travel on Monday, my first day off, and probably we're just going to through ourselves at their mercy and hope they have something helpful.
There are a lot of Irish folk staying at the hotel right now, and I almost wanted to jump up and down and tell them I'm coming to visit them soon. Even better is that my coworker cannot for the life of her catch what they're saying the first time, so she'll kind of stare and say something polite (but irritated) like, "I'm sorry?" And then when she finally catches, she says, "Oohhh, the ZOO. Here's a map."
I'm thrilled about Europeans making me repeat myself. I hope it happens, I hope my Chicago accent is so exotic that I have to ask how to get to the beach or the tourist bureau or the closest Italian restaurant at least twice. But I'm terrified that I'll have to speak French and instead of impressing Matt with my skills, some flat-eyed, snotty Parisian will answer my "Bonjour, j'ai besoin de deux billets aller-simple a Nice, s'il vous plait," with, "That's nice. Second class at eleven-twenty?"
I am worried about carrying all this stuff, though. I kind of want to make Matt carry all of the extra stuff, because I know I can pack so, so little if I don't have to bring a stove and stuff to fry up. But that would be evil, or selfish.