Tuesday, July 1, 2014

In the normal course of a vacation, you try to minimize the shitty parts, but when there’s literally shit involved, well, you’ve got to roll with the punches. I can’t recall cleaning up so much Pomeranian diarrhea, ever, nor have I wiped so much Pomeranian asshole in so short a span of time. But for all the darker moments, there were bright spots that more than compensated and made for great memories.

There was seeing Cheshire. Mo.net’s dogs in a palatial ranch. Cards Against Humanity on the lake with booze. Happy hour. “I’m so glad to see your fucking face.” Hugs all around. Golf on an unseasonably cool Sunday morning. A match on OkCupid who not only took a B-level pun like a champ, but delivered her own. I ran the social gauntlet and discovered renewal, rather than exhaustion, and concluded that extroversion can be adopted, apparently.

And so I sat on my return flight yesterday in coach, energized. That reminds me, too: on my flight to Charlotte, I upgraded to first class. Never done so before, and it was fascinating. Jury’s still out, though, because it was equal parts sham and boon. Certainly it was nice to enjoy more leg room, hot towels, lunch, cookie, smell significantly fewer farts, and disembark faster. But the fancy curtain separating first class was like a sieve, with coach passengers constantly using the bathroom, and deep questions arose. For what good is segregation, if the prole will not honor it? And what is the dominion of class, if not the right to terrible airplane steak?