My husband and I were supposed to go to Mexico to ring in the new year with our best friends. But, you know, 2020 and covid, and thus, change of plans.
In order to keep our spirits somewhat lifted (and look at something other than our four walls), we headed into the city, about thirty minutes from our home, for a much-needed (quarantined) staycation which involved a lot of walking and eating and that’s about it.
But once we arrived, I immediately got the urge that I needed to be doing something more. Like the expectation was that we were on vacation, and therefore I should be this fun, youthful Stephanie, or perhaps that we as a couple would be swinging from the chandeliers (this was self-imposed pressure, by the way).
So the first night, I ordered a dirty martini at dinner. I tried to force the conversation to flow. I mapped out …