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Why is it that whenever you send a man to the store to pick something up, he screws it up? Tomorrow night my daughter's boyfriend is flying to France to visit her for a week. As a college male, all of his stuff fits in a backpack, so my daughter has asked me to send a carry on suitcase with him with a bunch of her stuff, which she will swap out for other items that she's bored wearing, and send back in the suitcase. After packing her stuff, there was maybe 1/3 of available space, so I wanted to send some gifts for her host family. I'm still pretty beat up since my last surgery on November 26, and I already have a bad back as it is, so the overcompensating pretty much sends my lower back into spasm the minute I start pushing a shopping cart, so I've tried to shop about an hour each day since I first learned of this suitcase thing last week. I told my husband to do one thing. There's Japanese girl, Hikari, who's staying with the same host family, and she and Gab are so close. I told Gab that Hikari should come to Chicago next summer and she could stay with us, and of course the girls talk about it. It's Hikari's dream to come to America. I didn't tell Gab...but I planned to get a Chicago t-shirt, and roll it in a tube shape, tie it with a ribbon, and attach an invitation to come to Chicago in Summer 2020 (since I can't wrap any of the gifts because of the security check, this seemed like a cute idea). Before my husband left, we pulled up the website of the Love From Chicago store at Woodfield and looked at some of the t-shirts, and he said he would text me pictures because he was sure they had a better selection. About 45 minutes later, he comes walking in the door with the bag, and says "those t-shirts were so expensive, so for only $7 more, I got this!" and he pulls out a hoodie sweatshirt...which, MAYBE, if I cut it to shreds, one sleeve might fit in the suitcase. He saw the suitcase opened before he left. He was given explicit instructions. The confirmation text was my safety net. And still, he screwed it up. He works tomorrow so he can't exchange it, and I'm making host brother a Cubs bandana that I have to finish in the morning. Seriously, I'm going to have to start writing notes to pin on his shirt like my mother used to do when she sent me to buy her cigarettes at the gas station. My sister's husband does bone headed stuff like this too. I don't get it!
To elaborate on the Cubs thing, Gab has the W tattoo on her wrist. Her host brother Nico asked her what it meant, and she explained it to him, and that we like the Cubs, and not the White Sox. He now teases her mercilessly that the W stands for White Sox.
To elaborate on the Cubs thing, Gab has the W tattoo on her wrist. Her host brother Nico asked her what it meant, and she explained it to him, and that we like the Cubs, and not the White Sox. He now teases her mercilessly that the W stands for White Sox.
