My sister and I had major plans to spend two weeks in London last January. At least, until we actually figured out how much it would cost. And then we cried a little and drank a lot of Bushmills.
But it strikes me that if we had gone, our trip to the British Library would have gone something like this. I would have been all "Magna Carta! It's like eight hundred years old! The world's first "consitution"! Signed by the one and only King John!" and Colleen would be like, "Pssh. Whatever. Paul wants to hold my hand."
And because I'm a pushover and I still have a deep-seated fear of her (even though she stopped throwing Ken dolls at my head, like, four years ago), I'd probably spend the rest of the day looking at Beatles lyrics and never even get to see the British Museum.
(When we were planning our trip, and I was having a museumgasm over the most amazing museum ever, Colleen scrunched up her nose and went, "You can, like, drop me off at a coffee shop before that or something, right?")