“Ma’am, there’s something a little off with your passport.”
“Cold hand of fear. What’s the problem?”
-UK border guard and C.
Apart from that one tiny hiccup, I had a great holiday. Apparently, despite current dates, special stamps, and a British visa, my passport lost its premium when I was no longer a legal military dependent of my father (graduation day in August). Luckily for me those visas, stamps, and current dates seemed to convince Her Magesty’sGovernment that I was not coming into the country for nefarious purposes and I was admitted to “sort it all out with the Americans.”
My mother and I got into a fight (predictably) the first day I was there, my first brother Giovanni is now HUGE and my second, Buddy, is not far behind. Somehow since summer my ragamuffin little sister Snickers has turned into a girl who wants to cut and dye her hair and wear clothes that are not my brothers’ castoffs, it’s weird. I took my dog on long walks through the English countryside, feeding ponies, letting her chase birds through farmers fields, and taking pictures of Gypsy caravan wagons (I hear Marie, Kels, and Abfab grinding their teeth already, but I did bring Cadburys, girls, so don’t hurt me!)
The Christmas party we went to was full of Americans as well as Brits so we combined Cajun-fried turkey with paper-crowns for a mixed holiday! We had Victorian fortune telling fish (put the little cellophane slip in your hand and however it moves reveals something about you, but I’m not telling what mine was!) and cracker (you and a mate each hold an end and deafen everybody).