Friday, December 9, 2016
Our ongoing efforts to ignore the sordid reality all around us continue. Mr. Muscato and I are off on an all-too-rare weekend minibreak.
One of the Mister's legions of pals is having a birthday, and so this morning we jet off to the glamourous South for the festivities, which appear to have been planned with the care and precision of a royal wedding (with just a dash of Egyptian chaos thrown in). I'm purely along for the ride, although I did put my foot down and insist on staying in a proper hotel, as it's my experience that a passel of assorted Egyptian and international house guests, all flying in from heaven knows where, leads only to tears before bedtime (if bedtime ever arrives) over everything from hot water to sleeping arrangements, and I'm fussy that way.
I've driven through Atlanta, but never seen much of the city, and for the Mister this is all terra incognita. I don't know that between the first party, the brunch, the dinner, the second party, and the final breakfast, we'll have all that much time to sightsee, but I'll be disappointed if we don't manage some glimpse of MargaretMitchellLand or Aunt Pittypat's house or something like that. Unusually, I've done no looking into what's around at all - does any Gentle Reader have a (very) short list of must-sees? It's all too likely that all I'll see is a great many Egyptians in various stages of rowdiness, but one never knows.
But least I do know that we'll have a nice tranquil place to repair to soothe my shattered nerves. The one thing I know about Egyptian parties is that they're not quiet little affairs.
Wish me luck.