There are no stores in the Netherlands. Regardless of what logic espouses, my gremlins have convinced me of that. But this is not merely a belief about Europe. Regardless of my destination, during the week prior to a trip I rush from store to store like a squirrel gathering nuts for a harsh winter, stockpiling personal items as if no shopping opportunities will present themselves during my travels.

It is 2006 and I’m wearing Earth Shoes. I can’t decide whether to turn my ankles left and right and admire my big, square college-reminiscent feet or impale myself on my comb. Buying sensible shoes does that to me. It is a willing surrender of my ideas about the hip, slick and coolness of youth, and it is always humbling.

I pass the smiling faces for weeks, maybe months, and never see them. Back and forth from the living room to the kitchen, I glide or tip toe or clomp hurriedly in an attempt to get wherever I am running late.  I am always running late, it seems.