Crossing That Bridge

When, at the end of last semester, we believed our suitemates had to be completely out of their room before Katie Jones and I could move into their more sizable, meant for two room, and given that I had to leave the general vicinity of Virginia before those ladies planned on packing up, I said "no big deal. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Meaning, of course, after Christmas break.

Meaning-- you guessed it-- now.

I did get that mound of clothes into the suitcase last night and am only marginally offended that a suitcase that absolutely will not close has no choice but to do so once I sit on it due to the sheer force of my badonkadonk.

It's like the bag breathed a sigh of relief as I unzipped it this evening.

Me? Mine is the sigh of a girl fresh off of break who now faces a bridge that needs crossing.

But, as long as I'm walking, I might as well skip.

Burns more calories.

My suitcase would thank me.