Why is it that when Americans get three days off after a dastardly winter and months of school and work make-up days, we all feel compelled to pack up and go someplace other than our homes? Just when we were comfortable with all the fixing and spring airing-out we’ve done, we suddenly decide to escape to some B&B or hotel, risk sunburn and freak out the family pets by putting them up in kennels (or worse, in pet-friendly hotels where they can smell the remnants of other pets’ presence and freak out for a few days).
Not only do we have to hope we’ve packed enough for the trip (including hubby’s laptop so he can stay on call at the office), we also have to pay up the nose for food, lodging and souvenirs that we’ll wind up giving to the Salvation Army in a few years anyway.
It’s strange how somebody else’s hometown can seem like a fun place to visit if you decide to play the role of tourist for a few days. The locals usually go about their business while you’re visiting. They go to work, shop at the market and hit the local watering hole at night. The tourists hang out at the historical landmarks, visit the gift stores and get plastered at the hotel nightclub.
If you stay home for a holiday weekend, there is the requisite cookout on the grill the size of your indoor furniture and which costs enough to send your kid to a semester at Harvard. The master of the grill is the man of the house: you can pick him out of the crowd by the soot embedded in what is left of his eyebrows. the food is set up by the women, who usually plan days in advance how to get the stuff bought the cheapest and stored in the fridge without cramping out the tofu and yogurt bought at deep discount the week before.
This year I’m putting together potato salad and cole slaw (one for Sunday, and one for Monday) to go with the burgers, which we bought last week and managed to cram into the freezer, which was filled with frozen dinners which conveniently went on sale the week before.
I don’t use mayonnaise; I use salad dressing. Apparently that is a mark against my character, because most people seem to prefer mayo (though the salad dressing manufacturers seem to stay in business just fine). I like mayo, but I use salad dressing when I cook for myself. At least I won’t pay up the nose for my cole slaw at the hotel restaurant. And once I’ve stuffed myself, I can sleep all weekend in a bed that nobody else has slept in, and I won’t have forgotten to pack my laptop.
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