Dear Xena,
Babe, you checked out too early. For your information those weren’t frat boys and sorority sisters partying next to us: it was the Ontario Association of Midwifes. MIDWIVES! For an Amazonian type, you are very cowardly.
Besides, the next morning I was moved to the Sutton Place, where I joined several hundred historians who were having a World History Conference. You may scoff, in your world-weary-author-handler way, but you’d be wrong to do so. These historians looked like rock stars. They were slouchy and attractively disheveled with brit-pop hair cuts and Carnaby St. boots. These were the hottest historians on record. Even the old ones were much cooler than me (and possibly you.)
Anyway, I think you’re going to be sad you missed the rest of the tour. After all, I’m on the East Coast! The stuff of great fiction and the subject of some of the most famous mini-series in Canadian history.
Oh well. Your loss.
Susan
P.S. I’m sorry we won’t get to hold our hopeful vigil together tonight where we pray for John Kerry to win the election. Please keep your Big Daddy Chakra aligned for him, even if you’ve moved on from handling me to handling Nana Mouskouri or whomever.