As you read this, I am cruising at 30,000 feet up in the air, somewhere between Toronto and Las Vegas, most likely sipping a stiff gin and tonic, and discreetly enjoying a cheesy rom-com on the tiny screen in front of me.
This idea came to fruition on a cold January night, as I exceeded my daily allowance of cheap merlot and self wallowing. I picked up my phone and drunk texted Miss E:
Me: LET’S GO TO VEGASSSSSSS!
Miss E: Done!
People, that is what a best friend does. She does not question. She just goes with it. We booked our flight the next morning
Context: Mr. B was adamant about never stepping foot in Vegas; he would not even entertain the thought of going in the distant future. (For no particular reason, he was just a stubborn asshole.)
It only seemed fitting to book this trip as an official launch to my Year of Self.
My reader therapists, wish me luck on the tables! If you never hear from me again, I won a jackpot (or drank too many bottomless margaritas). Any suggestions for what I should do while in Vegas? Good eats?
Current Status: cursing my poor packing skills / binge watching House of Cards / never using self-tanning lotion again