Many moons ago, Nick and I spent a weekend in Chicago...and while it is widely rumored that I spent most of the weekend visiting every Starbucks on Michigan Avenue, Nick and I went to the Field Museum, too. Their big-time attraction was entitled Pompeii: Stories from an Eruption.

Now, I am sure that all of you have a working knowledge of the tragic day in 79AD when Mount Vesuvius erupted and devastated Pompeii. I think I learned it in grammar school somewhere in the same timeline as Yankee Doodle Dandy...but just in case there are some of you that had a more basic grade school experience, I will summarize the happenings of that fateful day.

Basically, there was this volcano, you know? And it erupted. Volcano warning systems were somewhat archaic in those days, and the people didn't realize it was happening, lava and black smoke notwithstanding, obviously. Well lookie there, I just educated you!—oh, and for you Trivial Pursuit buffs, the exact date was the 08/24/0079. Thank me when you win that yellow pie wedge.

It was crowded. Nick and I were trying so arduously to be cultured and interested, but the crowds annoyed us. They milled...people actually milled. "But Laura, it's a museum. People want to study exhibits." Yeah, yeah...but how long can you look at repeated casts of dead people, salvaged jewelry, and crumbling frescoes? It was air-tight in there, lights were dimmed, and my personal bubble was seriously invaded. We were a part of a boa-constrictor-y queue slithering about displays, and my patience grew short.

"Cultured. Interested," I kept reminding myself. I exhaled audibly and rolled my shoulders back. The boredom sat on my shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Not Nick, though. He perked up considerably upon learning the prostitute-laden society had a celebrated day of fornication on April 28th. The glass is always half-full with our Nick. Even if he wasn't cultured, you can be damn sure he was interested. I won't be surprised if he hosts a dinner party sometime near the end of April.

We watched a presentation on the whole mess, highlighting some nuances left out of my grammar school Pompeii brain-tickle. We stood up after the 6 minute break in our 2-hour shuffle through the darkened, congested hall, and wearily pushed our way through the last third of the affair. Nick reached for my hand dejectedly, and he had that empathic look—contrived, but still convincing—and leaned low to speak softly, "You know how this could have all been prevented?" He looked so down-trodden and tired....I shook my head. "If they had only sacrificed more virgins." With that, he dropped my hand and, shaking his head, stomped off with an actor's Grammy-worthy drama.