My goal is to return to Phoenix as a tourist, instead of a chaperone for two angry toddlers in 75 year old bodies.
It was not the worst, but easily in the bottom three quarters of the worst.
But I took my nephew–who now calls me Aunt Beppi–to the playground and there was an orange tree. I reached up and scratched my arm all up, because I didn’t know orange trees had thorns.
But that orange was the best orange I ever ate.