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Why can't you see what you're doing to me?

Sometimes, my dear bestie does the history nerd dream tour of Salem, Plymouth, Independence Hall and the like.

Sometimes, I must live vicariously through Lovin' Man's Elvis Week extravaganza.

(And the Eric Carle Museum and Emily Dickenson's house...)

Sometimes, of an evening, I hear the familiar refrain, "I wish you coulda seen that/been there/heard this."

(..and Marblehead lighthouses...)

And, sometimes, I hear it twice as nice a night.

(...Ben and Jerry's and Boston, Mass...)

Sometimes, as I'm cuddled up with my Sasquatch lovin' man watching the latest Facebook Find Bigfoot video, I find myself feeling more than dubious.

(...and Poe's place...)

Sometimes, I feel downright pitiable when exciting things like famous people interviews and backstage passes are happening all around poor little toothachey me.

(...the Betsy Ross house and the Mayflower.)

Sometimes, I pout about it.

(And, next up: Washington, D.C.'s art museums. Sigh.)

Sometimes, I consider whether Elvis has ever been sighted on nerd fabulous history tours. Or, perhaps, The Squatch at literary shrines.

Because, then, I might have a chance.


posted from Bloggeroid

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