So today’s the day I leave for my trip. I got so many supportive send offs on Tuesday, but I, um, wasn’t leaving just then. I was just doing the mental prep work.
If this somehow feels anticlimactic—like you broke the champagne bottle on my blog and now I’m hanging around to help you clean up the glass—you can send me hate mail.
I won’t be here to get it.
Since yesterday was my last day at work, everyone wanted to know where I was going. But first they wanted to stand around the water cooler and guess. Apparently my coworkers have mistaken me for someone who tans, has disposable cash and enjoys having large mice that wear clothes wave to me from pretend castles.
“Nope! Not the Bahamas. Not Vegas. And certainly not Disneyland*," I announced. "I'm going to Baltimore, Maryland!”
The room fell silent.
“Why there?” someone wailed.
I didn't realize my coworkers had so much riding on my vacation. But that's the way it is when one of you breaks free: You're all riding the wave. And if the wave is small and tame, well, you can always hope Claire from accounting goes to the Caribbean again and shares the pictures of her and her girlfriend doing body shots (personally, I thought they were tacky).
“Just because!” I said.
And it’s true. I’m going to Baltimore just because my best friend went to college there and wants to revisit some of her old haunts, and we’re going to a baseball game. We could be going to fricken Sheboygan for all I care. All I want from this trip is to:
1) Eat at a restaurant—sitting down the whole time
2) Sleep past 6:30 a.m.
That's it. Well, it'll also be nice to know that my friend can bathe herself and use the bathroom alone. Unless we bust out the tequila. Then I gander we may be heading back towards square one.
* Don't get all Mickey-Schmicky on me. I'll suck it up and take the kid there one day. In 2168.