Once upon a time, there was a chica...

I'm not afraid of many situations.  I'm trained to carry a firearm; I have a security system in my home; I lock my car doors; and I know karate (okay, the last one is a lie, but it flowed so nicely...).  Though I'm generally pragmatic, I've been known to push the boundaries on occasion.  That would be the case when I was snowmobiling and only wanted to go in the "do not go here" area.  That would be the case when I drove with my mother to see a castle down a very long lane with a sign that said "trespassers will be shot" (oh, pleeeeeeze).  That would be the case when I talked BFFfromHS into going into the salsa bar in Puerto Vallarta.  That would also be the case when I was (accidentally) locked in Arlington Cemetery and had to join the soldiers in the barracks under the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers until they could "decide what to do with me" (true story).  It's not that I look for these situations exactly, they just seem to find me!

With that said, I'm in California for work this week. Because it's a work trip, it's a bit....subdued.  I arrived early in the afternoon, thrilled to realize that I would not be sharing a room with anyone as first expected. However, one can only sit in said room for so long, so I put on my running shoes to head outside.  Given that I'll be in meetings for the next three days, I decided that for a little exercise I'll take the stairs all week (I'm on the 7th floor).  As I descended toward ground zero, with a spring in my step that Richard Simmons would be proud of, I found that the door from the stairwell to the first floor was locked.  And so was the second.  And the third.  As I started to contemplate sleeping in the stairwell, I found that the door to the fourth floor was unlocked.  Undeterred, I wound around the hotel and found the concierge to ask him why the stairwell doors were locked.  He couldn't give me an explanation, and asked if I was afraid of elevators. Many sarcastic thoughts flashed through my mind, but I used the filter and just said no.  Mr. Concierge (whose father I could have given birth to!) then offered to show me the employee stairs instead.  He kindly offered to walk up said stairs with me, all 7 floors, to insure all the doors were indeed unlocked.  Afterward, I thanked Doogie Howser who (while breathing heavily) nodded with his hands on his hips, and then hit the down button on the 7th floor elevator.  At this point, I'm feeling like Agent 99 in Get Smart, so I go back down the stairwell with my original plan-- to go for a run outside.

I'm only blocks from Disneyland, and each business capitalizes on the fantasy. Cinderella waves from the window.  Shrek beckons little ones toward the restaurant.  How sweet!  I'm motoring along humming, loving the sun in my face, when I'm brought back to the present by a voice, "Hey Chica, I'll be your Prince Charmeeeeeng!"  Hmm...odd.  When I see the Broken Key Motel advertising rooms by the hour with free HIFI (not a typo here), I decide that perhaps I should mosey back toward Cinderellaville.

I justify all this activity by thinking that it all turned out fine, and I was able to get outside.  It was a good day!  But in the back of my mind, I feel a twinge of guilt, knowing exactly where each my Offspring inherited his free spirit...

In Bliss & Grace, Shugie