During a night of copious drinking and bad decisions in a hotel room near New York City, I pinky promised Tracey that I would go somewhere in Europe with her during the summer. Angie said fuck it, and decided she'd come along too.
Fast forward, and we have flights booked for Spain for a week during August.
We had initially decided to go to Brussels and then to Scotland for a bagpipe festival. The festival plans fell through, so we kicked Scotland off the list. Then it became Brussels and Italy. Turns out Italy is expensive to fly to, plus Tracey had already been there and I had been to Brussels. Where else can we go? Germany? Nah. France? NEVER.
Spain? I like sangria! And tapas! Done.
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