By this time next week, I’ll actually be home from the greatest show on earth. I’ll have gotten in the shower and tried to scrape off temporary tattoos and stamps, and wondered where that bruise came from, or those scrapes. I’ll be pretty sure my nails will never come clean.
Stickers will be peeled off bags and jackets with their booze or BeadWhore proclamations. Dirty clothes will be unwrapped from the more fragile (or dirtier) items. Anything edible thrown onto the counter. The camera thrown onto the computer.
I’ll put everything in the washing machine that could possibly be washed that way and after drying, the lint trap will be full of glitter, sequins, beads, Popeye’s receipts and bits of feathers. Some things will make it through the wash, others had their last hurrah. This isn’t a trip where things are treated gently.
Then I’ll sit down and go through all the weird stuff that came back with me and try to make piles of where it all will go – like the doubloons my niece thinks are fairy money. Or beads that would be perfect for someone at work. Things in the apartment will have to be shifted to accommodate fresh decorations. Old stuff into storage, new stuff on display. Nothing will be put away of course. Not for a few days. It will sit around in slightly organized heaps as we step over it all until I work my way through, because right then I need a giant nap.
But that’s next week. Tomorrow I print out my boarding passes. See you soon, Mardi Gras.