So I am on the road, which means hotels and “continental” breakfasts. (Aside: exactly which continent serves this stuff?)
I was sitting at my table eating lukewarm oatmeal and reading the USA Today when I observed this exchange between Woman #1, probably in her late 70’s and woman #2 probably in her mid to late 50’s. Woman #1 has the kind grandmotherly look down cold. Woman #2 has the angry look – you know, angry clothes, angry face, angry hair…
Woman #1 is seated alone drinking a cup of coffee. Woman #2 briskly approaches.
Woman #2: “Where have you been?!”
Woman #1: “I woke up early, so I came down stairs, I got a little hungry.”
Woman #2: “Well… Bo and I had no idea where you were.”
Woman #1: (A nervous smile) “I’m sorry”
Woman #2: Bo and I were knocking on you door for like 15 minutes. I thought I’d have to plan a funeral today!”
Woman #1: (No longer smiling) “Sorry.”
In strolls Bo – from the looks of him he is Woman #1’s son. He is a troll like character – short, with arms too long and a gut that is accentuated my his decision to tuck his t-shirt snuggly into his shorts. Bo has a pile of gooey pastries and a cup of coffee.
Woman #1 smiles brightly at Bo. Bo doesn’t recognize her – acting as though he’s never seen this woman before in his life and proceeds to greedily wolf-down cinnamon buns.
Woman #2: “Well in the future – I’d like to know where you are. The last thing I need is an incident.” And she is off for an angry cup of coffee.
Woman #1 stares quietly into space; looking beyond Bo; and perhaps reminiscing about happier times.