Charles Street was lined with old lampposts and brick
buildings that housed vintage dress shops or art galleries. Each step forward
was a step back in time. The gray clouds weren’t dreary; they were quaint and
cozy. The spitting rain wasn’t a nuisance, but the perfect excuse to dip into
basement boutiques. We were content to wonder, with no plans or final
destination, enthralled with a city so divergent from our own.
“New York is like our husband,” said Ivy with a smile that
meant some truism was sure to follow. “I feel like New York is the love of my
life… but Boston’s the hot young thing.” And we laughed, because she was too
close to the truth: New York is home, New York is ours, yet
New York is the confinement as well as the escape.
New York is the confinement as well as the escape.
This little weekend fling was exciting, and none of us
wanted to admit how much we could
possibly enjoy another city. The accents, the talkative cabbies, the fluffy hotel pillows... It was cheating! Our feelings were defiant against
the tiny slices of life we’d worked so hard to create! Yes, we all needed a
little vacation and a cannoli from Mike's. Yes, we were pleased to be back in our respective
boroughs at
the trip's end.
But no, I’m afraid our love affair with Boston is far from over.
(Editor’s Note to
Future Husband: I will never define you as something so mundane as confining,
but Ivy’s analogy was all too perfect ;)
1 comment:
ok, you know you're a "hotel geek" when your favorite part of the blog is the "fluffy hotel pillows"... so sad... :)
Post a Comment