Odd how traveling with Secret Agent Fred so often involves threats of violence against him. Usually from me. We are visiting our respective families in Houston (mine started out here, but Fred’s wound up here from Brooklyn. Life is so odd.) I had spent the night before we left San Francisco trying to track the miscreant down. He had sent me an email asking that I come fetch him and that his phone was dead. By the time I got down to his place, though, he had disappeared and with no phone, there was no way to find him short of hitting every bar in San Francisco. I followed my tracks home and was annoyed to find him there, drunk and giggling. With the cat. That’s when I reiterated my old tune about finding a baseball bat and smacking him the head. It’s one of my greatest hits.
Anyway, Houston. We’re staying across the street from a gigantic shopping mall and have wound up there a couple of times. Malls give me the heebie jeebies, but I have to admit there are plenty of cute boys to ogle there and fudge sundaes, to boot. Our hotel is one which tossed Fred out on his ear last fall for misbehaving, so Fred keeps griping about them and I keep waiting for some of the staff to spot him. I was looking forward to some sort of drama filled showdown, but it looks like either we’re lucky or the hotel is too discreet. I was just born to be disappointed.