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These days, I’m very much the homebody. I would attribute it to the recent arrival of my son, but in truth, I’ve built myself a happy little nest and I don’t like hoisting myself out of it. But, unfortunately, sending a delegated robot to do my bidding has not yet become a socially acceptable way of dealing with the outside world, so I was forced to go to the annual industry conference for my job. Luckily for me, they offered a plush accommodation and continuing education credits, so I get something out of the journey.

I left my family to venture to Boston on a Wednesday. The week of stress and preparation weighing heavily on me. I picked an off-peak flight, so when the time came to go, I was ready well in advance, sitting awkwardly in the living room in silence while my husband attempted to work. The drive up was easy enough, arriving at the airport parking to find a logjam of cars waiting in the queue in front of me. Fortunately, it was only coincidence, since I’d never seen that many cars there at once. Within seconds, they were each dispatched and the way was cleared by the time I came back out.

I arrived at my terminal, reading Allie Brosh’s new book, which was amazing and hilarious and totally worth purchasing. It was a quick and easy read, but hard to stifle my laughter to the people sitting beside me in the airport. A very robust man sat at the end of the bench, banging his clodhopper up and down on the floor, jarring the entire bench along with it.

He was, as most people who are obnoxious tend to be, engulfed in a phone call. It seemed to be to a lady friend, whom he told he loved before ending the call. Then he made another, ending it the same way, “I love you.” Then another. And another. And, by the time, he made the fifth call, I was simultaneously amazed and completely horrified that this human egg had so many ladies at his beck and call. I do not want to know why, for there isn’t brain bleach enough in the interplanetary system to wipe that horrific possibility from my neurons.

Fortunately, I decided to go to the gift shop and pick up a few things for the plane ride, and by the time I returned, it was time to board. The rotund casanova now a memory as I plopped down in my seat. He was replaced in my furor by the “I’m from LA and you East Coasters have no idea how good you have it” guy. When discussing traffic, he reminded me and the very polite lady in between us how we have no idea how bad traffic can be. When discussing work, he cited the “union bastards” who charged him $140 an hour, and we had no idea how good we had it. When discussing child-rearing, he invoked the “breastfeeding nazi” sister-in-law he had who had the audacity to nurse her baby for six whole months. The nerve!

Soon the flight was high enough that the white noise drown him out. And, considering the brevity of the flight, we were up and down before he had a chance to pick on some other topic. Arriving in Boston, I grabbed my luggage and hit the hotel. I got settled in and decided to find the free fitness center.

I was greeted by the attendant, bonus points for a hotel that has one. He showed me where I could acquire fresh towels and complimentary ear buds (So Fancy!) and directed me to the updated and very nice machinery. As I worked through my normal playlist, I noticed a very sweaty shirtless man trying to mount the elliptical machine next to me. The kind attendant nipped that nonsense in the bud by kindly asking the man to put on his shirt. He stormed off and I didn’t see him again.

After my workout, I ran across the street for some provisions. I found a local grocery store with a nice beer selection, the lifeblood Red Bull I require to function and bottled water. I grabbed some late lunch at the food court, opting for the beloved Lobster Roll sandwich and the standard Boston Chowda. It was perfectly lovely and I retired to my room to have a beer, call my husband and call it a night.