So, here’s the thing: between being considerate and not wanting to push Ann’s contest off the top, being buried in piles of paperwork at the office (literally- do NOT stack files in piles over two feet high when a coworker might lean on the desk without warning) I’ve been putting off hijacking… ah, helping, my wife with her blog.
Now, going on a tangent to comment on Ann’s last post, I am not a cookie. I am more of a bagel, I think, with lox. And layered like the onion on top of that lox. Layered, pinkish and I go well with cream cheese and coffee. Black, slightly bitter coffee laced with enough sugar to convince it that it might just want to step over and become cappuccino without quite making that final leap of faith and getting foamed. Er, where was I?
Secondly, about Cuba. Wherein I travelled, recently, as part of one of our manager’s ongoing attempts to impress my father with trips to exotic beach locations for conventions. It is worth noting here that it took three grandchildren to make my father get back into a pool for the first time since 1985, he hates being hot and sweaty (notable characteristics of any real beach) and considers travel to be like cauliflower: something you have to put up with to get something else you want.
Now, me, I intensely dislike air travel lately. Between the delays, security measures, paranoia, weird smells, weirder people and cramped seats, there is just very little joy left to be found in flying. But I felt obligated to go, to keep the manager happy and not hurt his feelings. And there was the whole ‘if I have to put up with this crap, you damned well better be right there with me or I’ll make your life hell when I get back’ vibe my father was putting out when he handed me the invitation. But I digress.
So, there we were, not really wanting to be there but having to to keep some guy happy. A guy who only wanted to make US happy. By putting us through two days of bus rides, plane rides and airport hassles so we could enjoy a hurried day and a half of herded sight-seeing and fresh air fun in 100 degree humid heat.
Now that I’ve said all that, though, I will admit that it was fun. When we were not running around sweating, or sitting around perspiring. Details on the fun bits of the trip soon, but I exeunt with a brief thought:
Seeing Matt Damon telling what seemed like dirty jokes in Russian, while someone moans in the background, really drives home the fact that you’re in another country.