P,
Suddenly hubby/theoldballandchain, which one I can’t remember, wants to take me on a cruise. Actually, to be clear, hubby doesn’t want to take me anywhere. He wants to go fly fishing. In Alaska. In September. For the big trout. I wish I could just fake it (at least in this area) and say yes. Alas, I fear there’s not a good manicure within 500 miles of this place. The cocktails at 5pm consist of a swig from whatever bottle you bring. Although I may be reduced to such circumstances when home with the cherubs, I can’t possibly be subjected to such conditions while traveling.
So, anyway, he says he’d rather take me on a cruise than go fishing. What, are we 80 years old already? Immediately suspicious, I realize he knows I vomit at the sight of a rocking boat, never mind what happens when I ride on one. Even if he could promise that Kathy Lee Gifford wouldn’t be there, I’m not sure I could be persuaded. Please mention to the oldballandchain they have lovely vistas in Alaska in the fall. Whatever the hell those are. And friendly grizzlies. I think the oldballandchain’s friend needs him. More than his wife does at the moment, in any case.
Faithfully,
C.
P.S. Confidential to P in London: So glad to know you’re nearly a year older. After all, as you consoled me not so long ago, it is the most glamorous age. And one at which the goal becomes looking expensive rather than truly good. Shop well, my friend.
