My Critical Mistake
I Made a Critical Mistake Before going on to the next chapter of my travel companion and my flu-season slash election-year Americana road trip I have a confession to make. I really screwed up. For many years now, my travel companion offered little resistance to my avoidance of manual labor. This is outside of say, opening the door or helping get the suitcases in the overhead bins. We lived in a downtown high-rise where I could call someone if my towel rack was wobbly or a lightbulb needed replacing. I did every thing I could think of to imprint upon her mind that there was simply no use in asking me to saw a piece of wood or use a screw driver because I lacked any skill. Instead, she would do it. I wore a suit jacket every day and multicolored socks. When I sipped on a glass of wine or a cup of coffee my pinky finger was purposely extended towards the casual observer across the table. When we camp outdoors I set up the kitchen...