I’m hiding out in my super air conditioned hotel room in Philly from my mother, the tour director. I love my mom. She is this teeny tiny (4’10”) high school US history teacher and the nicest lady alive. As such, when we travel together, she gets her way. Period. And now, in Philadelphia, or as I like to think of it “land of 1,000 historical places to see before lunch,” the woman has me on the run. Independence Hall, check. Constitution Center, check. Visitors Center, Eastern State Penitentiary, the “Rocky” steps, Franklin Court, Betsy Ross’s house- check. In three hours, we will be boarding a Duck Tour to see anything we may somehow have missed before we both head home tomorrow.
So, while she’s in a conference learning to teach the Constitution (which she has taught longer than I’ve been alive), I am in the hotel room enjoying free Wi-Fi and a fruit smoothie from a street vendor. I have three hours to hit the pool on the roof with a good book. Or mail more obnoxious postcards. Or even, if I’m so inclined, take a nap. Which I just may. Mom’s idea of “sleeping in” is 8:30 am.
I am the oldest daughter of a perpetual tour director on the eternal school field trip. And I love her dearly for it. But these boots (or flip-flops)? They were made for napping. It’s vacation. And heaven knows, I needed it.