Kind of, we’re not going anywhere, but I guess for her, the full time worker person, any time she’s away from the office or in her case, hospital, it's a vacation.
We were supposed to go up to Bar Harbor to hike the trails of Acadia national park in Maine, but since my stupid leg is still bugging me a little we didn’t think climbing mountains was a good idea.
So instead, she says we’re having a “Staycation”, one of those newly minted 21st century marketing inventions.
But see, based on Z’s definition of “Staycation”, for me, the freelance worker person, I’m pretty much always on a “Staycation”. And sitting in a chair, staring at the walls, getting lost in my head for a morning, then sitting at the computer the rest of the day is fine with me.
But not Z…
Z want’s activities…and she wants me to figure out what those are.
Not that I don’t look forward to having Z home all week; I do. I just wish I could convince her to get with the program.
But she just refuses.
Then we hiked up to Lincoln Center for lunch at a nearby fancy schmancy Mexican joint that mixed their special guacamole right at your table and partially on your leg. Not to mention the special super margaritas that require you to ask for an increase on your credit card limit.
Next, we strolled through Central Park, chatted with the muggers, who were very polite and accommodating. They even showed us a short cut to take to the zoo.
It was a little off the beaten path, but you could literally pick up a nice Versace handbag or Ralph Lauren wallet right there off the path.
I mean literally pick them up; they were all over the place.
To be honest, I think he’s just misunderstood, and may actually do a little freelance writing himself, on the side.
You know what they say…process is everything.
On another day during last year’s “Staycation” we drove out to this big elaborate arboretum on Long Lsland.
Like most of these places, it was rumored to be the former estate of some big shot tycoon who may or may not have been named Gatsby. In any case, it has been documented that F. Scott Fitzgerald urinated in the bathtub there one night and they we’re so impressed they left the stain to prove it.
The only drawback to the place is that they don’t allow picnicking of any kind on the grounds, so we ended up huddling in the back of the Hyundai like a couple of star crossed school kids, except instead of sneaking smooches (???) we we’re sneaking ham and cheese on rye. But we did have orange Hostess cupcakes, which was kind of crazy…I know.
So, here I sit trying to come up with some exotic adventures to satisfy Z thirst for “Staycation” adventure.
I know the beach is down for one day; that’s a given. But I think I’m gonna have a hard time selling returning my Uncle’s generator as another.
I might be able to get away with a trip Kohl’s to return that defective underwear.
Don’t even ask….
THIS IS IMPORTANT PEOPLE…!