So Ernest Hemingway wasn't always *The* Ernest Hemingway. Before he was the badass no-nonsense Nobel prize-winning author with an unshackled appetite for sexual congress, he worked as a journalist. While in Switzerland covering the Lausanne Peace Conference, he was asked by an editor to present some of his fiction.

He also was unabashedly committed to becoming a famed and virtuoso writer.

Sooo, jumping at the possible big break, Ernest called for his then-wife Hadley (the first of four wives and one of many "love interests"—the dirty dog) to pack up his work in Paris and make her way to Switzerland. The always doting and supportive wife, she amassed everything she could find.

Every. Last. Bit.

While in route on a train to deliver the goods, Mrs. Hemingway thought it'd be grand to go have herself a little tipple. I imagine Hadley sipping on her dry martini, watching the countryside slide by, breathing easy as she anticipated her beloved consort's writing career finally taking...