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“We are not allowed to research Portugal until we get there.”
Mom stays indefend your childmode. “Why not? That is very strange. Who are you going with?”
“Mom, I am 27 years old. I live in NYC. Just want to throw that out there in case you missed it.”
My words have no effect on her. “How many people are going with you?”
“I think 12 other team members are also joining. Yeah, our boss is a weirdo mom. He wants us to absorb the place with our own eyes. So, I cannot even search it online. I think he hates the internet.”
“Well, I hate the internet,” dad chimes in. “Sounds like a good man to me.”
Mom is not done. “Avoid walking in the city at night. Who knows what’s out there.”
“Yes mom, I’ll be sure to stay indoors once the sun goes down just like they used to back in 1423.”
Mom is not deterred by my sarcasm. “And be aware of pickpockets. They work in teams now. One distracts you while the other goes to work.”
“Got it mom.”
“Sometimes they are twins.”
“Wow mom, twins who specialize in picking pockets. Please stop watching weird stuff people send you.”
After receiving repeated instructions about avoiding strangers, I tell them that I love them and end the conversation.
For a few moments of personal joy, I just lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling, absorbing the excitement.
I share the news with Edith and Sylvia.
“OH MY GOD, BROOKE, you are going where?!” shouts Edith.
“Portugal.” I speak.
“Por Chew Gal, you are going to be a Por Chew Gal!”
Sylvia joins in the madness, “Watch out everyone here comes Por Chew Gal!”
The crazy chanting begins, and I join them.
Por Chew Gal
Por Chew Gal
Por Chew Gal
Edith is jumping on the sofa. Sylvia is dancing something out of an eighties video, throwing her hair in every direction from the center of the living lounge. I am on the dining table chair, punching the air with my right fist, while pointing to an imaginary audience with my left, (what I remember to be a cool step from high school days). Ah, the things we women do in private. Forget about racy pictures, it’s these dorky moments that we can be blackmailed with.
“Is the Hawaiian Dream going with you?”
“Mr. Knight will be leading the teams to Portugal, yes.”
“Oh Mr. Knight,” coos Edith. “Make sure you sit next to him on the plane.”
“It’s not a bus, Edith, we will have assigned seating. We are traveling business.”
Sylvia throws a pillow at me.
“Shut the front door! Business Class with those large reclining seats and unlimited wine? Cute flight attendants who ask you what you want for dinner and bring you crème Brule?”
