When in Rome...

On Monday, I wore heels.  Easy-to-work-in heels, but nothing I want to walk home in. That's ok, there's always the school shuttle to take me back to the apartment complex at 4:10.

Hold up, Mondays are meeting days. 

Meetings go to 4:30, 4:45 ish.

There isn't a later shuttle.

Oh, fiddlesticks.

Not sure what I was thinking, but I ended up staying another hour anyways to do some work.  Mark was a bit worried that I wasn't respond to calls (do iPhones usually die in 2 days?) so he rode his bike to the lower school to see how I was.  

Definitely time to go home.

Well, I could try to catch a cab for a block, or I could suck it up and do what the locals do.  

Was there any question as to what I'd choose??

There I am, sitting sideways on the back of Mark's bike, one arm wrapped around him and the other hand trying to make sure my skirt didn't flip up or get tangled. 

Of course while executing such a dangerous feat, one has to talk a selfie for posterity, right?