Cents and Sensibility

On Monday, or was it Tuesday?, I came this-close to booking tickets for a trip to New York. Now, there really was or is no reason for me to go to Manhattan (let's face it, aside from JFK, it was the only place I'd planned to spend any time in) but I could have justified it by having face time with my lovely editor and meeting with my agent/manager to sign papers and dazzle him with my not so awkward people skills and map out my writing future.

It was going to be a quick trip, just a few days as I was piggybacking on the husband having to go for his MBA final project thing that's taken over his life. I figured while he was running around doing whatever it is that almost MBA degree havers do, the kid and myself could wander around the city at a leisurely pace. The more I thought of it, the more I realized this was not the time to take a trip away from my desk. My deadline is May 11th and I'm going to need every writing hour between now and then and there was a matter of where we would be staying.

The husband had made arrangements to stay with a relative and I wanted to stay in a hotel. (I wasn't even setting my heart a really good one.) This relative of the husband has always been gracious and generous. She has a kick ass four story brownstone on the Upper East Side within walking distance to The Met. But my deal is, and it's all mine, I want to visit NYC and just enjoy doing what I want to do, not impose on family. If we'd stay with her we couldn't treat her home as a hotel and come and go as we please. We'd be her guests and good guests are conscious of their hosts needs and schedules and make themselves available for dinners and lunches said host might want to, well, host. (There is some degree of having to sing for one's supper, too.) I've gotten to meet some interesting people, yep, that's me with Russel Simmons who couldn't have been more mellow, and eaten at some great places in New York, but there comes a time when, as an adult, you want to pay your own way and be in control of your own time.

And, as a grown-up who is fully aware of what Quicken is telling her, I'm putting off my trip until I have a real reason to go and can justify the hotel costs.

So my editor and I will have to communicate via email and phone calls and my manager/agent will have to FedEx over contracts and such. But this doesn't mean I won't get to get the one thing I'd built this whole trip around: A new writing sweater. (My old Old Navy one is only being held together through a network of little pills I can't help plucking at.) When I first entertained the idea of going to NYC, instead of checking for airfares I went over to the Uniqlo site and set my sights on the lambswool button up turtle neck sweater, $49.50. Imagine the work I could get done in that number?!

And even though I know it'll be a tremendous pain in the butt for the husband to make his way down to the Soho store, when he asks what I want I'm going to give him the print out of my dream writing sweater. Hey, he owes me. He spent a week in Europe (Turin, Italy, Zurich, Switzerland and Bonn, Germany, again for this almost over MBA thing) not too long ago. The one thing I asked for were for a few boxes of o.b. minis (not available in the states, I even called o.b. headquarters to make sure) and he didn't come through. I figure a trip to a store, which he's also fond of, is a small price to pay considering all the money and headaches I'll be saving him by not coming along.

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