The carpet in the hallways of the nice hotel where I am staying (and someone else is footing the bill for) is ugly. I have to look at it on my way to the nice breakfast that I am also not paying for where I can eat as much cantaloupe and dragonfruit and cunning little pink jellyroll pastries washed down with really good coffee as I want. I have to look at the carpet on my way to and from the gym where I have begun taking pole dance classes at corporate expense. I have to look at it on my way to work in ridiculous Tanzanian clothes because most of my sober western stuff didn't survive two years of Africa, so I sit in a car with a laptop on my bright pastel-clad legs and tell people to do things to the car and write times in a notebook like I'm important or smart or something. Then I come back to the hotel where all my things have been tidied for me and the carpet is still ugly. So I go to nice dinners, also at corporate expense, to eat and drink amazing (or possibly normal? I don't know anymore) things. The carpet is still ugly. Darlings, I have a first world problem!
Last week I was a Peace Corps volunteer with an oozing pus problem. This week I am a pampered consultant in China. I don't understand how my life happens. That is not a complaint.
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The Pizza Hut, Pizza Hut, has calamari, caviar-stuffed shrimp balls,
Malaysian sauced shrimp spaghetti, potato and bacon soup, and of course, pizza. |
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| How is my life this luxurious? |
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