Who could’ve imagined our spring break trip to Napa, sipping wine we couldn’t pronounce served by a handsome young man, likely named Lucas on some Tuscan hillside would be replaced with a stack of BBQ Pringles and a cheaper, more familiar bottle of wine enjoyed from the depths of our living room. Nope, not this spring, ladies. Our luggage is somewhere in a closet collecting dust; passport buried under a stack of unopened mail while we are left with no choice but to reminisce on travels past. I close my eyes and try to imagine that the hum of the 1994 Toyota Corrolla driving past my apartment window is actually the wheels of the plane kissing the runway goodbye as we take off only to come to my senses and remember that I have no clue when the next time I’ll be able to flag down a flight attendant for extra socks will be. Still, we have our memories. And wine is still wine and we cling to the hope that although times are tough, the world as we know it ..can’t possibly be closed forever. If we can manage to survive a middle seat on a red-eye flight, we really can get through anything, girls.