Last night, a friend was in town from NYC. I took him out for margaritas in La Jolla. I kept calling myself the Ambassador of America’s Finest City. I pointed out the weirdest things. I said, “Doesn’t the pavement look so much cleaner than in NYC? You could eat off these streets.” I even effused about those reflectors in the road that allow you to hear when you’re wandering into another lane. They don’t have those in places where you have to plow snow (can you tell I love EVERY LITTLE THING about my hometown?).
Then suddenly I was apologizing for the mist and the early closing hours. And the raccoon that showed up near the pool at his hotel. Funny how you become self-conscious when you’re the hostess, even though I think this place is perfect and can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t share that view (he said I have “no diplomacy skills”—ha! I’ll buy that.). Also, he said he heard a touch of bitterness about New York. Oops! Really? I wonder why I’m like that about that dirty, crowded city. 😉
Okay, all kidding aside, I really did love the Big Apple at times. But I’m so happy here that I wonder now what kept me there so long.