Datebook: Tuesday, August 2nd

Yesterday was the big travel day and it was a bit draining, 100-degree weather, IPOD in my daughter’s ear, daughter sleeping, construction on the road, and of course the biggest concern—driving without a rider. I mean this in the purest form—as in insurance.

We did stop to pick up the costumes. It is only now, a day later, that I can say this without a brown paper bag near by. Our costume designer makes appointments so that clients never run into each other—which is very sensitive and considerate, but I think it is also so those arriving aren’t frightened by the faces of those leaving.

It occurred to me during the drive that perhaps the world economy could be aided if we based our economy on sequins. I mean truthfully, they are easier to store and weigh less than gold!

That gives you an idea of what is coming.

Yes, I joked before about the price but you surely knew that because anything to do with skating uses 4th grade math—everything is rounded to the nearest dollar or 100th dollar. This is not the gas station, where we pay 3.07 9/10 a gallon. There are no 9/10s of a cent in skating. Even though we deal in hours, or portions of hours, the bills are always in easy round numbers.

So, after all the costumes were tried on, my daughter’s partner’s mother and I were handed bills. Neatly folded. And we reacted as if there had actually been an Emily Post class on what to do when handed a large bill for sequins and lace—we didn’t gasp, or even look at each other. I wrote the check, leaving plenty of room for the zeros, from my checkbook—with the cover that came in the box with the checks. He accepted the check and put it in his Louis Vuitton wallet, inside his Louis Vuitton (vintage) briefcase. Within minutes the room had brightened and my peripheral vision returned almost to normal so that I could walk unaided to the car. I was hampered slightly by the 50 pound costumes.

During the drive I obsessed about the costumes. I didn’t park at a rest area unless we could see the car, we cracked the windows just enough to let in some air so that the sequins would be cool—like traveling with a poodle! but not enough to allow a thin coat hanger to intrude to unlock the door.

My daughter worried about her Ipod and laptop, and I snorted, “that is like the change at the bottom of my purse compared to your dresses.”

“I’ll pay you back one day,” she said quietly and looked small and contrite.

I paused and brushed the hair from her eyes.

“You’d better. I’ll expect some shiny buttons on my nightgowns when you put me in that nursing home.”

During the last hundred miles I consider calling State Farm and asking about an insurance policy but then remember the unwritten rule we all have.

“Never divulge financial information to Outsiders.”

I wonder if you can get a clothing Lojack or one of those chips they put in dog’s ears…

Mombo #9