every single time.
There was that luggage mix-up in Greece when I ended up with someone else’s suitcase. Little did I know it was full of nothing but cigars, condoms, and a pair of men’s red silk pajamas. Gag. Five seconds later, I was back in a taxi on the way to the airport to find my real baggage.
And I did get lost in Madrid, but only for a few hours. This I-thought-they-were-nice couple took pity on me, offered me a ride, and then wanted to stop off for a glass of wine. I was all for it until the husband propositioned me. He thought a threesome with his wife would be delightful. I begged off, citing a recent Hepatitis flare-up, fingers crossed behind my back the whole time. The man deflated like a stuck balloon faster than I could say ‘adios.’
Then, there was a hotel snafu in Cozumel, when I ended up sleeping in a youth hostel. After my roommate left her taco half-eaten on her backpack, we had a midnight bug infiltration. Big. Huge. Bugs. Thank goodness I was on the top bunk.
Anyway, it all worked out, in the end.
And here, in Eufaula, Alabama, Shug seems every bit the reasonable, responsible host. I can rely on him to point me in the right direction. “So, what’s on the agenda?”
“I do have some things in mind,” Shug wrinkles his brow. He’s probably trying to remember if I asked for a schedule. I’m not about to correct him. He takes a long drink of the dreaded sweet tea. Ugh! How can he stand it? My teeth are rotting in my head just thinking about the cavities. Dentists must make a fortune around this place.
“Great! I can’t wait to get started!” I exclaim.
Mary Katherine giggles like we’ve just shared the funniest joke ever. The sound crawls right up my back. “Shug has been beside himself—we’re thrilled that you’ve decided to come to Eufaula and do the article!”
I smile at the ‘we’ comment. And have a sneaking suspicion they’ve known about this little project a lot longer than I have.
With a nudge at Shug, Mary Katherine throws me a hopeful look. “If I’m lucky enough to be in the article, I’ll need to buy at least thirty copies and send them to everyone. All of my friends in Birmingham and Mobile,” Mary Katherine ticks off names on her fingers. “There’s Stacey, Melissa, Candy, Alicia…”
Shug clears his throat.
Mary Katherine pauses, “You do know I’m on the Pilgrimage committee, don’t you Julia?”
I don’t know this, but nod anyway.
“Breakfast,” Shug announces, no doubt as glad as I am for the interruption.
One by one, the plates are set in front of us. On Mary Katherine’s is one slice of toast, no butter, and a plain bowl of sliced melon. Shug has what looks like several biscuits topped with gravy and something else I can’t identify.
My grits and a side of bacon arrive seconds later. “May I have some brown sugar, please?” I ask the server. She gives me a strange look, then disappears.
Mary Katherine lowers her eyes and takes a tiny nibble of her toast. At this rate, we’ll be here a million years.
I dip my spoon carefully into the creamy-white grains, as if I’m testing the water of a swimming pool the first day of summer break. A bit of it sticks to the end of my spoon. Looks harmless enough. I close my eyes and put the spoon to my lips. Hmm. Bumpy and kind of bland. A little salty.
When I open my eyes, Shug is staring at me with an amused look on his face. “You really should try it with cheese,” he recommends.
“Oh, no,” I say, horrified. The brown sugar arrives and I am totally distracted. I dump half the bowl into the grits and begin to stir. The sugar melts into a lovely taupe swirl. Without hesitating, I spoon some into my mouth. Mmm. Pure heaven.
“So, tell us about how you became a writer,” Shug asks.
I smile, grateful he’s changed the subject. “I grew up around it, so it seemed like a natural career fit for me, too. My father’s been a journalist all of his life. He started out as a newspaper
There was that luggage mix-up in Greece when I ended up with someone else’s suitcase. Little did I know it was full of nothing but cigars, condoms, and a pair of men’s red silk pajamas. Gag. Five seconds later, I was back in a taxi on the way to the airport to find my real baggage.
And I did get lost in Madrid, but only for a few hours. This I-thought-they-were-nice couple took pity on me, offered me a ride, and then wanted to stop off for a glass of wine. I was all for it until the husband propositioned me. He thought a threesome with his wife would be delightful. I begged off, citing a recent Hepatitis flare-up, fingers crossed behind my back the whole time. The man deflated like a stuck balloon faster than I could say ‘adios.’
Then, there was a hotel snafu in Cozumel, when I ended up sleeping in a youth hostel. After my roommate left her taco half-eaten on her backpack, we had a midnight bug infiltration. Big. Huge. Bugs. Thank goodness I was on the top bunk.
Anyway, it all worked out, in the end.
And here, in Eufaula, Alabama, Shug seems every bit the reasonable, responsible host. I can rely on him to point me in the right direction. “So, what’s on the agenda?”
“I do have some things in mind,” Shug wrinkles his brow. He’s probably trying to remember if I asked for a schedule. I’m not about to correct him. He takes a long drink of the dreaded sweet tea. Ugh! How can he stand it? My teeth are rotting in my head just thinking about the cavities. Dentists must make a fortune around this place.
“Great! I can’t wait to get started!” I exclaim.
Mary Katherine giggles like we’ve just shared the funniest joke ever. The sound crawls right up my back. “Shug has been beside himself—we’re thrilled that you’ve decided to come to Eufaula and do the article!”
I smile at the ‘we’ comment. And have a sneaking suspicion they’ve known about this little project a lot longer than I have.
With a nudge at Shug, Mary Katherine throws me a hopeful look. “If I’m lucky enough to be in the article, I’ll need to buy at least thirty copies and send them to everyone. All of my friends in Birmingham and Mobile,” Mary Katherine ticks off names on her fingers. “There’s Stacey, Melissa, Candy, Alicia…”
Shug clears his throat.
Mary Katherine pauses, “You do know I’m on the Pilgrimage committee, don’t you Julia?”
I don’t know this, but nod anyway.
“Breakfast,” Shug announces, no doubt as glad as I am for the interruption.
One by one, the plates are set in front of us. On Mary Katherine’s is one slice of toast, no butter, and a plain bowl of sliced melon. Shug has what looks like several biscuits topped with gravy and something else I can’t identify.
My grits and a side of bacon arrive seconds later. “May I have some brown sugar, please?” I ask the server. She gives me a strange look, then disappears.
Mary Katherine lowers her eyes and takes a tiny nibble of her toast. At this rate, we’ll be here a million years.
I dip my spoon carefully into the creamy-white grains, as if I’m testing the water of a swimming pool the first day of summer break. A bit of it sticks to the end of my spoon. Looks harmless enough. I close my eyes and put the spoon to my lips. Hmm. Bumpy and kind of bland. A little salty.
When I open my eyes, Shug is staring at me with an amused look on his face. “You really should try it with cheese,” he recommends.
“Oh, no,” I say, horrified. The brown sugar arrives and I am totally distracted. I dump half the bowl into the grits and begin to stir. The sugar melts into a lovely taupe swirl. Without hesitating, I spoon some into my mouth. Mmm. Pure heaven.
“So, tell us about how you became a writer,” Shug asks.
I smile, grateful he’s changed the subject. “I grew up around it, so it seemed like a natural career fit for me, too. My father’s been a journalist all of his life. He started out as a newspaper
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