What a whirlwind few days it’s been! On Monday, my dear friend Sally made her first trip to St. Louis. She lives in London, and visits her sister in Detroit once a year. Usually I go to Detroit to visit her. This year, I convinced her to come see me on my home turf.

A whirlwind trip merits a whirlwind post, don’t you think? Here’s how I indoctrinated a Londoner into the ways of St. Louis in 30 hours.

Monday

1 p.m. – Sally arrived at the airport. Clara Jane and I whisked her away, taking the scenic route to show her Forest Park and downtown on our way to lunch at Iron Barley.  Nothing says “welcome to St. Louis!” like springing a fried sandwich of American cheese, peanut butter, fried banana, strawberry jam, bacon, and red pepper flakes on an unsuspecting Brit.

She kept saying, “This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever tasted, but it’s so good!”

4 pm – After a long, gut-busting lunch we headed to my house so Sally can see how we live and meet my dogs. They did the the only trick they’re trained to do: howled like they were being killed when I told them to talk about their bellies. For that, Sally crossed the Atlantic.

Then we had another sort of howling – Sally experienced her first tornado warning. Welcome to the lower midwest! Hold on to your ass!

7 pm – Once the storm passed, we started one of our own. I took Sally to work with me, which I contractually can’t discuss beyond saying there were vodka tonics and toasted ravioli. It’ll be at that link on Friday. By the time we went to The Bleeding Deacon for some sweet potato salsa, tiny meatloaf sandwiches and a giant curly hot dog, Sally was what every mum to two boys under the age of five who’s on holiday without her children should be: good and happy drunk.  After three big vodka-based cocktails and some fancy bar food on a sultry St. Louis night, there’s one more required stop before going home to bed: Ted Drewes for some frozen custard, eaten on the tailgate.

Being 11 p.m. on a stormy Monday night, I thought Sally might not get the full, organized chaos crowd experience that is Ted Drewes. Not the case, thanks to softball players and a tour bus that looked like a trolley.  Then it was home to let the traveler sleep.

Tuesday

9 am – Sally sat down on my bed, waking me up to tell me that her husband, who was at home with their boys, had thrown out his back. Across the Atlantic, she made arrangements for everyone to be cared for while I tried to figure out how to get myself and my kid dressed without the aid of coffee.

10 am – International health crisis eased, we started our day with Sally’s first request: she wanted to go to Oregon Trail to see my away-from-home office.  Sally proclaimed it to be the best espresso ever, and off we went to fulfill request #2 …

11 pm – The World’s Largest Catsup Bottle!  The fact that Sally learned of the catsup bottle on her own and wanted to see it proves why we are soul mates. There’s not much to do at the catsup bottle, other than stand in a pothole-covered parking lot and say, “Damn, that’s one big-ass catsup bottle.” We did this while my very, very cranky child corrected us for called it a “ketchup” bottle while taking our picture:

That’s 170 feet of full-on catsup glory!

1 pm – On to request #3: the Gateway Arch.  Being a typical St. Louis resident, I haven’t been to the top of the arch since 1986. Honestly, I haven’t had an interest in going to the top because I tend to be claustrophobic. Have you seen the tram that takes you to the top of the arch? It’s usually compared to being shoved into a clothes dryer with four other people. For Sal, though, I’ve told her for years that I’d ease my ban on going to the top if she was here. It was also Clara Jane’s first trip to the top of the arch. She was a little surprised by the lurching motion of the tram:

Pay no mind to the look of terror on her face; we all had a fantastic time. This scene right here makes me terribly happy:

Two of my favorite people in the world, gazing at one of the biggest views in the world. This is enough to override even the slightest bit of tumbler tram trauma.

3:30 pm – We fetched Brian from work, all of us tired. Some of us very, very cranky. In keeping with Sal’s request to visit the places where we spend our time, we had a late lunch/early dinner at Fletcher’s.

5 pm – After dinner, we dumped The Grumpy Ones at my house. Sally and I made the requisite trip to Target and had just enough time to hit Park Avenue Coffee for the last local delicacy on the list: gooey butter cake.  I take full responsibility for any pancreas, liver, or coronary damage Sally might have incurred during her visit. That’s St. Louis, Baby.

And she really did fit in. Outside Park Avenue, she changed her shirt on the tailgate of my truck in the rain. If that’s not positively St. Louisian behavior, I don’t know what is.

7 pm – Time to take the scenic route to the airport, including a run through Grand Center and the Delmar Loop.  Lo and behold, in a pure bit of serendipity, while driving down Delmar we spotted Beatle Bob. If ever there was a sign that it’s time to leave town …

What can I say? There are few people in this world I’d rather spend 30 hours running amok with than Sally. She’s one of the only people in my life who brings nothing but absolute joy. No stress, no drama … just love and happiness. I needed those 30 hours this week so badly, and I’m so thankful to have had them.