I’ve always said the Savage family motto should be: “kinder to strangers than kin.” The wife put that shit on overdrive with our tour group in Italy.

I like group tours because I’m lazy. They plan the hotels, the transportation, a few guided tours, some meals, and schlep all the bags.

The wife likes the audience.

She’s writing down their names in her little notebook and practicing at night. She’s peppering them with questions about all the little details no one else cares about.

“It’s really interesting to find out about people’s lives…”

If she says so…

There were 23 of us. 4 dudes with their wives and the rest women traveling with their female family or friends.

“God I wish I had a good friend I could travel with,” the wife said loud and proud while I was standing right there.

Our little gaggle of ladies looked at me with a mix of pity and curiosity at how butt hurt I was going to get over this obvious micro-aggression.

“I wish you did too, honey…”

And we all left it at that.

The wife forcing me to take an image in an Italian villa at Lake Como. She's a hoot just pointing a camera.
The wife pointing the camera at a mirror in a 15th Century villa in lake Cuomo. She’s a hoot forcing me to be part of this shoot.

While the poor little tour guide was trying to entertain us with a “song” or a sing-along, the wife was heckling from the back of the bus.

“Are we going to play the music from your phone? Cause whatever this is — it ain’t working.”

Forget your wallet on day one and make the bus drive around the block and wait for 5 minutes?

“Looks like Mike is buying drinks for everybody tonight,” the wife said every day until finally Mike bought candy for everyone at the final group meal of the trip — which the wife dubbed “The Last Supper”. (The candy was better than what Jesus gave the apostles…)

“Your wife is such a hoot,” said Judy, who the wife called Trudy for most of the trip and then confused her for “Kim,” another traveler, right before giving “Judy/Trudy/Kim” her rechargeable personal fan that everyone envied while waiting in un-airconditoned lobbies, train stations and boat launches.

We were going home and Judy/Trudy/Kim was continuing on to Florence and facing even more heat.

“She needs it more than us,” the wife said.

She’s a hoot

Obviously, the wife — like all the little Savages — needs the affection of strangers. She’s more than willing to buy it.

Candy and toys for kids. Jokes and gifts for the adults. That fan is either a kind gesture or a desperate attempt to be loved.

Never mind the deep seated need for attention that has to be the product of some fucked up family dimension.

She’s a “hoot.”

Never mind the need to be a star and make everyone on the bus remember her above all others or she won’t be able to sleep at night.

She’s a “hoot.”

Never mind the attention deficit disorder, social anxiety and hyperactivity that drive her to fill every quiet moment with laughter, chatter and in a pinch small talk with anyone.

She’s a “hoot.”

Damn good hoot

It’s a damn good thing too. Otherwise I’d be standing in the corner not talking and only thinking about the bullshit I put in this blog.

I wouldn’t learn any of their names. I’d just bitch and complain and write shit about their personal peccadillos to no one in particular and just broadcast it on the internet for all to see but no one to bother to read.

My social anxiety drives me away from people. I don’t want them touching me. I don’t want them talking unless it’s a topic I like.

It comes from some fucked up family dynamics where I want to be the smartest person in the room. But I don’t want to do the social work of connecting to anyone or really caring about what they have to say.

If I got Judy/Trudy/Kim’s name wrong for two weeks, she’s probably correctly guess that I’m just a little bit of an asshole.

But the wife just floats over these faux paus and people seem to love her even more for it.

It’s a good thing too. Because…

She is a “hoot.”