Hello Dahlings. This morning after having my cuppa with Prime Minister Karamanlis, I stopped off and had a manicure/pedicure and emergency liposuction whilst en route to my lunch date with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, where afterwards I will be picked up by my stretch limo and transported back to my posh hotel (the deluxe suite at The Grand Bretagne in Syntagma Square) for a much needed massage and a siesta before hitting Gucci and Armani for designer duds with my diplomatic wife friends in preparation for my dinner date and nightclub hopping with Kristi Stassinopoulou and her crew. This is how I ROLL. . .
Right.
Dearies, let me tell you. The idea we are living some jet-setter exotic life out here is FALSE. There are days (many) I would bet my life my entire stock portfolio (as meager as it is) that my life is much, much more mundane than yours. MUCHO! (or MUY?)
Even people who are out here with us seem to have the same false perceptions.
Last night at dinner we were talking about flying. Now, I'm really not a big fan of flying, which doesn't bode well for our lifestyle. In fact, the actual flying doesn't bother me so much (not a huge fan of turbulence, but whatever). It's all the pain in the ass stuff that leads up to flying. Packing, getting to the airport 2-3 hours ahead of actual flight time, immigration, customs, security, body cavity searches. . .
But the funny part was when FM's colleague asked me about business class.
Business Class?
The last business class I saw was in college. And that was a mighty long time ago.
Almost as long ago as the last time I saw Vuarnet sunglasses (are these still "must haves"?), Coach purses, or any designer's name on my clothing (which was right after college when I thought I had a lot of money).
Seems she thought it natural I would be flying Business. Fantastic Man flies business (on the company's dime), so why not me?
And, the answer? So obvious. It's MY dime. And there is no way in HELL I'm paying the airlines that kind of money to sit up front in the big chairs. As uncomfortable and annoying as coach is, coach is my way of life.
Unless FM decides to start sending me cargo. . .
Out here, there is no hobnobbing (what a great word, it sounds X rated, but is socially acceptable) with heads of states, the rich and famous, Ambassadors, or even government diplomats for the most part. Sometimes our best friend is the hotel DOORMAN!
And as for me, NO, I am not on "permanent vacation" as so many people like to say. Although my life is not actually too demanding, it ain't vacation, folks. Trust me, I know the difference. I'm basically a housewife, just my "house" keeps changing, as well as my neighborhood, longitude, latitude and attitude.
Just to clear up a few conceptions.
1 comment:
Ja! Vuarnets hey? Wow, that's way back. Those paired with Girbaud's? I like this post - not that it matters but it's so true. As visitors on vacation it's always easy to say that... "wow, this is the life" Well. DUH. They're on vacation - not you. I wonder if they ever stop to think what it's like to live out of suitcases for who knows how long. To not have the luxury and comfort of sleeping in the familiarity of their house. Sure, it's an adventure the first couple of days - maybe a week - as you get acclaimated but then once the sites are checked out what? Where's your escape? When FM comes home. I hate that too - oh you've got it made, travellin' and doing nothing... there's plenty doin' - lots of thinking, lots of solitude - perhaps sometimes deafening silence. Sorry - went off on a tangent - I hear ya sistah! Post or no post. LOL
ILY ~K
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