where's waldo?

otherwise known as "where is my luggage?" is the saying of this trip. as we are forced to wash our underthings for a second night in a row, i am grappling with the idea of finding another "perfect dress" to wear to the wedding, and to try not to hate my luggage for spending more time in france than the original 8 hour layover we had intended for it. i am convinced that, like the gnome in "Amelie", we will come home to photos the missing pair had taken in front of notre dame or kissing beneath the eiffel tower or touring the louvre. that is SO not cool.

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