But only one, readers:
"I AM a reluctant traveler.
At least she can afford it, no?
I smell elitist, agenda-pushing shit stink already, readers!
I head for the airport fighting the gravitational pull of home. On the eve of any trip - a day in New York, a week in Costa Rica, it makes no difference - I am already longing for the consolation of return. When the suitcase comes out, I get so melancholy that even moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer gives me anticipatory homesickness. If I'm traveling alone, my husband's unthinking daily kindness breaks my heart.
There is probably a substrate of fear in this. The plane will crash. The hotel will burn. I will lose my wallet and face a nightmare of dislocation. No one will miss me."
What NO TERRORIST THREAT?
No pat-down or anal probing?
