You guys, I’m ready for my November hiatus.
Last year, I ran a marathon. Then I spent the month of November in Australia and Rome. This year, November is just as glorious. I went to the ear doctor, Walmart, and Petsmart.
But life is about to get a little exciting. I’m off to Havana, next week, for an unusual cultural exchange. I am meeting with hoteliers, business leaders, government leaders, lawyers, artists, musicians and a ton of other constituencies. My group is doing plenty of sightseeing tours, too, and my friend Gerry Crispin promised me lots of mojitos.
Sounds great, right?
The official paperwork for my delegation informed me that I should bring gifts for the Cuban people. Some suggestions are Band-Aids, pens, suppositories and anti-diarrhea medication.
So I went over to Walmart to stock up on cheap Halloween candy and put about $100 worth of suppositories in my cart. While standing in an epic Walmart line, I decided to google “gifts to the Cuban people” to see if there was any additional guidance on what I should give. Do they really want suppositories? Does anybody want suppositories?
Turns out, children are running through the streets of Havana with bars of soap and packets of gauze. What the Cuban people want is money.
One comment on Trip Advisor said, “Tip generously and be kind.”
When I eventually got up to the checkout lady at Walmart, I told her that I only wanted to buy discount Halloween candy.
“Kit Kats, please. No Preparation-H.”
She looked at me in horror because somebody had to restock all of those small boxes of suppositories and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be her.
I made a sorry-not-sorry face and went into a five-minute speech about my upcoming trip to Havana, how I’m meeting with diplomats, how Gerry Crispin is buying me mojitos, blah blah blah.
I was holding up the line, and the checkout lady was growing very impatient. Apparently she’s never heard of Gerry Crispin. And the look on her face had me feeling anxious, which caused me to talk a little more like Chatty Cathy.
Then I started to sweat.
I finally got out of the store — with my bagged candy and no suppositories — and happened to look down. That’s when I realized that two of the buttons on my shirt were undone. I was showing off a big chunk of my cleavage.
I was the strange person at Walmart.
I told you that I’m ready for my hiatus. Dear sweet Jesus, I hope Cuba will take me.