The Last Supper

We capped off our European roadtrip with a viewing of The Last Supper in Milan. Talk about going out with a bang! We were pretty stoked actually. I mean, it's The Last Supper. One of the most famous, if not most controversial, paintings in all the world. As our group waited patiently to be escorted through the air controlled-time released chambers my anticipation grew. There's something so genuine about viewing an original piece of artwork for the first time. I really consume myself. I entered the large dining hall and I was immediately awestruck by what I saw. I felt complete reverence. The original Last Supper was right before my eyes. Not embroidered into some tacky wall blanket that I've seen in so many dining rooms. No, this is the OG! And just as I was about to evoke my inner Robert Langdon, my investigation was halted by the sound of a dying cat somewhere off in the distance.

Sheesh. Someone might want to control their child, I thought. My investigation continued. Why yes, that person to the right of JC does look a lil' girly. Is it possible? Could it be? But before I could go on, I was interrupted by that damn sound again. Shaking my head back and forth and exchanging the same annoyed glances with fellow observers, I rolled my eyes back to the painting. I began curiously counting the feet under the table when that same irritable sound wafted through the room again. This time it seemed much closer though. Holy crappers! That yelp is coming from Mia! STRAPPED TO ME IN THE BJORN!!! COULD I BE A BIGGER IDIOT?!!!!



Mia, not embarassed at all, thought it was hilarious that she could hear herself echo in this large dining hall. And continued to yelp over and over and over again. Nobody else thought it was hilarious, except for that small 3 year old who happens to be her older sister. So hilarious, that she chimed in too. I looked to Eugene for some sort of divine intervention and was surprised to see his usually khaki skin a bright shade of red. The yelping continued and my gut reaction was to put my hand over her mouth to stop the shrieking. Which, btw, looks really, really bad. In a panic, I ran to the back of the room (trying my best to ignore all the stares) only to find that the air controlled-time released exit chambers only let people out at certain intervals. SHIAT! Finally, the exit doors opened and we ran like the wind!

Dusting off the embarassment, we spent the rest of the day walking around Milan, taking in all the sounds and sights for one last time.









We too had our last supper that night. Over some pasta and really great wine we shared our favorite moments and smiled as we relived our last two weeks. All the laughs, all the tantrums, all the driving, all the people, all the places, all the food, all the memories.

Two weeks to some is routine. Two weeks in Europe is unforgettable.