More Dispatches from the Road

I'm on the road for work. I've written before about traveling for work. This trip isn't quite like trips in the past. For example: Work travel then. More work travel then.

Now this travel is quite posh. My companion walked into the room last night, with the turned down bed, chocolates on the pillow and the lovely gifties of a bottle of wine and chocolate covered strawberries.

One look, with a single eyebrow arched up high and I knew my days of playing the hard-working, traveling martyr were over.

I was quick to explain that for every Ritz-Carlton, there are six Holiday Inn Expresses. The Dancer is hard to convince.

She started unpacking and organizing things. I jumped on the beds. She tipped the bellman and I checked out the movie menu on the television. I harrumphed when she told me porn was out of the question.

I pulled out all the honor bar selections and oohed and ahed over the $8 peanuts and the $3 M&Ms. I squealed when I pulled open the door of the little refrigerator and saw Grey Goose and Red Bull. Drinkies!!!!

She just shook her head at me and handed me what was left of the South Beach Diet chicken wrap thingy she'd munched on as I drove.

Undaunted, I set up the laptop and started playing online games and skyping with friends. I called MathMan and left him an obscene voice mail. She removed her makeup, washed her face, flossed and brushed her teeth and climbed into bed. I poked my head over the top of my laptop to see her shoot me a tired look as she rolled onto her side and pull the covers up over her head.

I stayed awake, goofing around while she tossed and turned in her comfy bed. Relenting, I shut down my computer. It was a bit cold in the room so I stood on a wing back chair to adjust the thermostat. My slipper caught on the edge of the cushion and I tumbled down off the chair. From my place on the floor, I could see The Dancer sit up in her bed and look at me.

"Why are you on the floor?" she asked groggily.

"I fell off the chair," I whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "Drinking?"

"No. Just water."

She considered me for a minute. "You fell off the chair? What were you doing?"

"I was standing on it," I laughed.

She shook her head and pulled the covers up to her chin. "Honestly, Mother....." she just let the sentence hang in the air.

I guess this really isn't like work travel in the old days when I used to have to scrape drunken property managers up off sidewalks and pour their whiskey-reeking corpses into hotel beds. Or when I used to drunk dial my Congressman's office on a dare. Or that time I....well, nevermind. You get the idea.

I looked over at her as I got off the floor and climbed into bed. She was laughing silently.

Sunrise over Lake Oconee.