pictures of real ferragamo belts, Salvatore Ferragamo | HuffPost
Two Years Earlier
They simply stored going round and round on an countless loop, the same pink knapsack, inexperienced duffel bag, and bungee-corded brown box circling the room like refugees caught on a Ferris wheel. My husband Karl’s suitcase appeared immediately, loaded with Etro striped shirts,
Ferragamo loafers and his prized Dries Van Noten sports activities coat. But after two hours of waiting, frantically jumping from one baggage carousel to a different as a smattering of arriving flights touched down, it turned painfully clear that I would be spending the following ten days in
Italy stuck with the clothes I had on my back: a BO-infused green T-shirt with a pink coronary heart silk- screened throughout the front, a pair of jeans that have been decorated with various in-flight meal mishaps and highlighter-yellow slipper-sneakers. Not even my carry-on bag might save me — all it contained, apart from my wallet and passport, was a handful of Dramamine, a horseshoe- shaped neck pillow and a dogeared copy of Thomas Mann’s appropriately titled “Loss of life in Venice. “
It wasn’t like this the final time Karl and i have been in Italy. Two years earlier, I had an entourage of luggage when we made our way from Rome to the Amalfi coast to attend the wedding of Karl’s good friends, Eric and Shana. Again then, my multiple baggage were jammed with every part from the filmy peignoir set I had planned to tug out on our first night in Rome to the complete-size judge’s gown I had volunteered to transport to Positano, a favor to the Officiant (who later admitted he wanted the additional space in his personal suitcase for a postwedding procuring spree in Milan). Instead of asking myself, ‘Do I really want all these shoes ‘ I advised myself as I demolished my condo in a state of packing frenzy, ‘You may be prepared for anything’ — from a freak snowstorm to the sweltering heat that this new love held for me.
Of course, all this overzealous preparedness was probably a method of managing my anxiety, a perception that as long as I packed that pair of silk cargo pants, these fourteen tubes of lipstick, and, I’m embarrassed to admit now, a spare roll of rest room paper, I’d somehow manage
to avoid one other sort of travel emergency, one where my new boyfriend determined he didn’t really care for my company after spending five consecutive days with his plus-one marriage pictures of real ferragamo belts ceremony date. Karl and that i had been seeing one another for just a few months, and up until our Italian
getaway, we had spent only a handful of weekends collectively, lolling around in mattress or on certainly one of our respective couches watching reruns of “Household Man.” This trip required placing on actual clothes and remaining upright for an extended time frame, negotiating territory past our regular haunts in D. C.and sharing a bathroom with a handheld showerhead and a door that didn’t lock or do much to dam out sure, er, noises.