I know this is essentially an action replay of my holiday LAST year, but oh look, Neiman Marcus had a sale on!
Minutes after buying these, I tried to buy a cheap dress in Forever 21, and … my debit card got rejected. Turns out my bank now require me to let them know where I am at all times, and if I don’t, they will block my card when I try to buy something. (It’s either that or Terry has paid them to just block the card anyway…) They hadn’t bothered to tell me this, though, and in order for me to find out about it I had to:
1. Drive 5 miles up the highway, because there’s no cellphone reception in the house, and the phone there doesn’t allow you to make international calls, so you have to drive around until you can get a signal.
2. Drive back again to collect Terry’s phone, because my phone burned through 15 minutes worth of credit in the space of a 3 minute phone call. Value for money!
3. Discover that Terry’s phone isn’t working. Borrow my mum’s phone instead.
4. Drive back up the highway to a random parking lot.
5. Spend a further £7 in phonecalls.
6. Hope that the block has been lifted.
7. Whine a lot.
In conclusion: I can shop at Neiman Marcus, but get rejected in F21. Also, never use an iPhone to make international calls, kids…
In better news, we’re still having an amazing time, and now I’m going to bombard you with photos of it. You’re welcome!
(Should’ve asked him to sort out the cellphone coverage in our area…)
Who knew Obama had such a large head? Or looked so much like the George Bush statue they USED to have here? This was outside the Hall of Presidents. We didn’t go in, because we’ve seen it before, and there’s only so many times you can look at a bunch of animatronic presidents. Last time, of course, I didn’t actually realise they WERE animatronics until Bill Clinton suddenly winked at me. True story…
I did have my photo taken with Fake Rushmore, though:
We were there to climb the Citrus Tower next door, and by “climb”, I mean, “take the elevator”, obviously:
Here’s the thing about that, though: I’m terrified of heights. I discovered this fact many years ago, when I went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, strode confidently out onto the landing, and then ran screaming back to the centre of the tower, convinced it was about to fall over, and that the only thing that would stop that happening would be me pressing all of my weight against the middle of the structure. I spent the next terrifying 20 minutes alternating between worrying that I was going to pass out and HOPING I’d pass out, so they could carry me down without me knowing about it. And I had almost exactly the same experience at the Citrus Tower, only not quite as bad, because it’s not as tall:
You think I’m just posing here, don’t you? I’m not: I’m HOLDING IT UP. Every time I stepped away from the centre, I felt dizzy. Fun times!
In this one, Terry is both holding ME up, and forcibly restraining me from running back to the safety of my pillar.
Next we went to Mount Dora, which, despite the name, has no mountains. After the Citrus Tower, this was a Very Good Thing.
Totally not my bicycle.
“I won’t mention the size of your head if you don’t tell anyone about how I flashed everyone on the beach at Sarasota yesterday after the strap of my bikini snapped, deal?”