When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, It's Time To Go Home by Erma Bombeck Read Free Book Online

them and you would never have to go through the experience again.
    The tour was a nice smorgasbord of Europe, but we felt constricted by time schedules and bound by an itinerary where people hovered over you as if you were an endangered species during mating season.
    After the guided tour experience, we fantasized about renting a car and taking off all by ourselves. In our dreams, we imagined the two of us immersed in a little red sports car like two lovers in a hot tub. We visualized the wind blowing our hair as we discovered quaint little inns on dirt roads. We paused on a mountaintop to drink wine and toast the breathless view.
    “We could set our own pace,” I said to my husband. “No stress ... no tour buses ... no guides.”
    “You're right,” he said.
    “No luggage outside the room by five a.m., no table for twenty at lunch, no more major decisions of 'Do I use my fifteen minutes to tour the Louvre or go to the restroom?'”
    In retrospect, it sounded so simple. If you could drive a car, you could drive a rental car in another country, right?
    Right.
     
     
     
     
    The Rental Car
     
    We were stopped for a traffic light at the mall one afternoon when one of our kids noted that the car in front of us had his windshield wipers on even though the sun was shining. He was also trying to make a left-hand turn from the center lane.
    “Is he crazy or what?” giggled my son.
    I grabbed the kid by the collar and put my face close to his. “Listen up, mister! I never want to hear you use that tone again, do you understand me? Look at the plates. That poor unfortunate that you have deemed to call crazy is driving a rental car. Do you know what that means? It means he has a road map that looks like the veins in the back of my knees and he was lucky to find his way out of the airport. He is in a car that he has never seen before and is looking for his route signs that are hidden somewhere behind a tree. There are fifteen pieces of luggage jammed into that compact because they didn't have the station wagon he ordered. The poor devil will never find out how to turn on the lights when it gets dark so he will have to drive until his battery dies. If he's real lucky, he will find the button that releases the key in his ignition. If he doesn't he will have to spend the night in the car. Don't you ever talk that way about a person driving a rental car again!”
    My son looked at me and said softly, “It's Italy again, isn't it, Mom?”
     
     
     
     
     
    Italy
     
    The Italian behind the car rental desk in Naples boredly drew a circle around a large X and said, “You are here.” Then he outlined an artery on the map with a yellow pen and continued, “Just turn right at the first—”
    “We're where?” asked my husband, leaning over for a closer look.
    “Here,” he repeated, stabbing the map with his pen.
    “But 'here' is in the margin,” I interrupted. “How do we get onto the map?”
    “It is simple, madam.” He sighed. “Take the Via Don to Foria and follow the Piazza Cavour to Via Roma. Look for the Piazza Medaglia d'Oro off Via Giotto Menzinger and follow the signs. You can't miss it.”
    It had all sounded so romantic. We'd pop over to Italy, rent a car, and wind around the Amalfi Drive, taking in Positano and Ravello and perhaps zip over to Capri. We certainly didn't need a guide for that!
    Besides, driving in Italy wouldn't be like driving in Ireland. That had been a nightmare. From the moment my husband eased himself into the driver's seat at Shannon, he sensed something was wrong. “Where's my steering wheel?” he asked.
    “I've got it,” I said. “It's on my side.”
    Carefully, he eased his body over the gearshift and into the seat. He started the motor and inched his way onto the highway where he nearly met another car head on. After two more close calls, we realized everyone was driving his car on the wrong (left) side of the road. I'm here to tell you we have lived life in the fast lane and