My blogging plan is to highlight the fun stuff, the many adventures and ways to have a good time at Universal, using reverse psychology.My dad says he hates being upside down,so I took him on x,y,zride where he didn’t know we went upside down. He didn’t even realize ... so I guess he’s wrong.
My pitch was easy enough in selling the idea, and I think I need to do more of this kind of shtick.
Gabby’s shirt is already sticky with lemonade, so I suggest ice cream instead of the balloon. Why not? She’s already cranky and sugared up. After all, we’re all gluttons. Gabby for sugar; me for Reid.
And just like that, I’m back in Reidville.
Argh, I managed to go an entire ten minutes without thinking of him.
His email to Andrea and his texts to me, both so sincere. He’s been sending me selfies from around the corner at the Magic Kingdom, and I’ve been lying.All’s good.Having fun with Gabby.That’s what I’ve been saying. So, it’s not really lying, but sort of. Lying by omission is still lying.
Yeah, lying.
I have seven hundred plans for the blog, and zero for telling Reid the truth.
So, what do I do? I eat ice cream and pretend my problems away. After all, we’re at Universal Studios.
Tuesday morning, Gabby is a walking zombie in the airport. Despite her being upright on her feet, I’m practically dragging her by the arm.
I take a quick look around, thinking Child Services is going to pop out any second and take her from me. I’m not doing anything wrong—she’s wiped out from too much fun and even more junk food at Universal. We had an amazing time, despite my anxiety over Reid practically being next door with the big mouse.
Coming out of security, Gabby whines, “I’m thirsty.”
“We’ll get a drink. Just a sec, Gabbs.”
“Mom, now, please. I’m so thirsty,” she whines, dragging her sparkly tennis shoes.
Gabby’s a good kid, better than I ever could have imagined, especially under the circumstances. But right this second, I could trade her in for a different make and model. One with no vocal cords.
Is that mean? I don’t care. I’m tired too.
We head down the corridor, her hand in mine, walking toward gate 32B, my mind a million miles away. After a long weekend of work, I still find another solid five or ten minutes to obsess over Reid’s last email. Not to me, but to Andrea. I never responded. I hoped the “On Assignment” post I stuck to the front page of the blog was enough of an explanation.
I don’t even think twice about all the rude comments wondering where mysarcastic assis,and am I finally going to reveal my identity. Worry over Reid trumps everything else.
Jesus, I’m pathetic.
“Mommm.” Gabby shakes me from my reverie, pointing at a bar-type restaurant.
“Okay, let’s sit here,” I say, since we still have an hour until we board our flight.
Gabby plops into a booth, her backpack narrowly making the bench seat next to her. She’s destroyed, and I wonder how she’ll be able to go to school tomorrow.
“Can I have a lemonade?” she asks, and I nod. After all, I’m going to down a Bloody Mary faster than you can say, “Bad mom.”
The server swings by, and I place our order.
“I guess it’s a Bloody Mary kind of morning,” she says and walks away.
Finally, I take a look around, noticing we’re in one of those after-work-bar-type places, and think,This place is crap. Before I can change my mind, the bartender starts singing some chant from behind the bar.
It’s a little ditty about Bloody Marys being the official drink of Orlando.
Where the kids come to play
and the adults hate to stay.
Oh yeah, yeah.
