Want to know what's more nerve wracking than arriving in London?
Leaving.
I've tried desperately to push back the thought of my impending departure, but it's nearly impossible to ignore the truth: I fly in two weeks.
Time has moved quickly. I blink and a week has begun and ended. Luckily I haven't squandered my days away, but there's so much more I want to see and too much I want to hang on to.
Yesterday we wandered into a tearoom on the Southbank, and while I was disappointed to find they didn't serve bubble tea, it was a nice surprise to hear an American accent from behind the counter. Whoever he was had been to Kansas City before. I think his comment was "Really good barbecue."
We ate our food for a while. It was fun. The tea was delicious. My orange was even better. I was excited for the Design Museum. I was loving London. And then, over the speaker, I heard, "I'm going to Kansas City, Kansas City here I come."
I think it's time to go, said he.
Oh, but it isn't.
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