souvenirs

 The hotels, all over the world. Soaps from St. Petersburg (with VP and Tipper Gore) and Yugoslavia and China. Sewing kits from Milano (en famile), Vietnam (with Chien-Chi Chang) and Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas (with Celine Dion). Toothbrushes and shower caps and combs.
   And then there are the condoms from the sex club (doing group marriage video with Donna Ferrato). The handy dandy mirror from the sports magazine editorship in the late '70s that I used to snort coke. The remains of the coconut oil I used to wear as perfume while living on the beach in Hawaii wearing little else.
   The toiletry kits from business class (including razors and black socks) and the one Coca-Cola handed out when my husband and his sister and brother-in-law and I raced the length of Mexico in a '55 Porsche and '54 Jaguar (I think).
   Why was I saving them? I can barely remember the stories or the hotel rooms. All those toiletries down the toilet now—or rather in the trash.