I left my climate-appropriate clothes in New York when I was in San Francisco

Deep-dark secret time. No judgment, friends. This is my safe place. When I get anxious...I...I...well, I...brutally rip off my baby toe nail. There. I said it. Deep breath. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest (and foot). Being responsible for a week-long itinerary directing the activities of a place I'd never even THOUGHT of going to before was very stressful. Both of my baby toe nails paid the bloody price for my paranoia. Not very smart considering all of the walking I would be doing on this trip but I have a bit of a martyr complex and am well-versed in self-flagellation (of my baby toe nails AND re-piercing my lobes when a non-observant 4th grader buys me consignment shop earrings at Christmas-time).

For our second day in San Francisco, I had scheduled an early morning visit to the famed Tiled

Steps and then a bus tour of the city. "Are you wearing THAT?" Savannah greeted me as I emerged from the hotel bathroom dressed in shorts and a tank. Her discreet diplomacy skills should EASILY earn her a position on the UN panel. She'd have Kim Jong-un playing a hearty game of corn hole before you know it. This would also be the same day that she'd shout from the top of a moving double-decker tour bus that I had something in my nose. She is such a sweetheart. I did end up switching to jeans and layered shirts before leaving the hotel but Sydney, dressed for the fashion run-ways of Milan, refused to yield to her sister's sensible fashion sense. She looked like a model, traipsing up the mosaic-patterned steps shrouded in San Francisco clouds before scampering back into the heated comfort of the car.

But Syd's skimpy sundress wouldn't be able to shield her against the arctic blast of the double-decker bus combined with the chill of the Pacific West Coast. "Syd...look!" I exclaimed, pointing, "The exterior building shot for The X-Men!" "Uh-huh," she grunted, trying to burrow under Savannah's well-insulated-by-many-warm layers-of-clothing arm. Savannah fought her off as she tried to catch a glimpse of where Interview with the Vampire was conducted. "Oh my goodness, did you see Joe DiMaggio's caterer?" I shouted over the whipping wind. "Yeah...changed my life," she admitted as we careened by the Mrs. Doubtfire house before heading to the Golden Gate Bridge painted in its easily recognizable original Industrial Orange because, by the time they'd wrestled it up, the engineers shrugged and said, "Eh. Good e'nuff." Sydney howled with delight as we shot across the two mile expanse.

"How are you hearing ANY of the tour information without your earbuds," Brad asked. It was time to tell him. How would my husband react to the news, after almost thirty years of blissful ignorance, that his wife's ear holes were so warped that no bud could possibly conform to them? That isn't grounds for divorce, is it? After the shock wore off, Brad stepped up...refusing to allow my ear-bud incompatible ears to miss not even ONE more delightful trip fact by tying the buds to my ears. It was here...at my most dignified, that Savannah chose to alert me to a nasal matter.

Sydney welcomed a break from the bus to tour China Town. By this time, she had somehow weaseled at least one piece of clothing from each of us. Savannah and I spotted character-based snuggies hanging from a shop window. "Sydney, they have a unicorn snuggie," we told her, dancing with joy. She frowned, burrowing her hands in Savannah's jacket. "No," she said firmly. "It's forty dollars," I reported. "I'll cover half of it," Savannah declared as we envisioned Sydney dressed (warmly) as a unicorn on her next journey crossing the Golden Gate Bridge atop a double-decker bus. "No," Sydney repeated. We begged. We bribed. We threatened. To no avail. "The trip is ruined," I lamented as we hiked down to the next Big Bus stop. You are either hiking UP or DOWN in San Francisco. There is no middle ground. Brad

glanced at my feet as we settled back onto the bus. "What?" I asked. Noting that I'd changed that morning from sandals to sneakers, he remarked, "At least you don't have easy access to your baby toe nails," before tying my ear-bud cords to my head.