This week, we’re living in a hotel. I could get into that, what with the room cleaning itself and lackluster food just appearing by magic. I just wish it were a nicer hotel. Maybe the kind with $15 nuts in the mini bar. That would be great. Instead, we have a view of all the old bicycles and shopping carts in the partially drained canal that runs by the community college.
The cat is being traumatized at Casa de la Carpeted Kitchen, Mr. H’s ancestral abode. She tolerates the toddler who gets so excited that he wrings his hands and sighs “Kitty!” everytime he sees her. He’s pretty funny these days. He runs around with his arms bent and his fists clenched, kind of like Foghorn Leghorn. He has a real sense of purpose for someone with nothing to do.
Anyway, I think we can go home tomorrow if the fumes dissipate. That’s good since I’m all caught up on my USAToday. I learned that Wal-Mart is trying to lure upscale shoppers. Mkay. I would just love to buy my sushi from Wal-Mart. I really hope it’s made with dirt cheap Chilean salmon farmed in an environmentally predatory manner and processed by workers who don’t get bathroom breaks. But then again, when Wal-Mart thinks of a “well-heeled customer,” perhaps they are thinking of the person with the largest SUV. That person probably also enjoys shopping for fine jewelry from a case stocked by a polo-shirted worker with no health insurance. Not me, no sir. I prefer choosing my blood diamonds with the help of a man wearing a natty suit. It helps if he looks a bit like Hector Elizondo.
I hope the workmen did not eat all of my snacks, or the painkillers I’ve been saving. Remind me never to try to improve my surroundings again.