No it's not a new drink. Rather, it's the new way of traveling for couples, between the mountains and the beach. I'm the first to admit that I don't travel well anymore. Years of commuting everyday between the Catskills and Manhattan threw me into a kind of low level agoraphobia. Once I was off the commute I reveled in the freedom to stay put. My range shrunk to about a 30 mile circle. So when Shewho proposed a couples weekend with two of her favorite people, Eugene and Patricia O'Neil, out in "The Hamptons" I began to run a temperature and experience explosive diareah. As a driver I fear getting lost. As a navigator I fear Shewho's driving. There's no easy way around it. The solution? Go Guantanamo.
I didn't have an orange jump suit, but an old pair of Carharts did the trick. Adult diapers, a blindfold and pillow case over my head, some soft bindings for the hands and feet, and I curled up in the fetal position in the back seat, calm as a kitten. The gentle hum of the tires eventually put me to sleep. By the time I woke up we were passing through East Hampton, heading for Wainscott. "Keep your hood on dear." Shewho warned, knowing that glimpsing the opulence, and extremely well groomed men and women in striped sweaters and scarves, could trigger the diareah again. I heeded her advice. And before I knew it, the ignition was switched off and Shewho announced cheerfully "We're heeeere."
Just for yucks Shewho walked me to the door, still shackled and hooded. She presented some nice wine to our hosts and loosened my bindings. Our trip had been a complete success- no bickering, calm, relaxed. I recommend this way of traveling for anyone sharing my pathology, as does Shewho. Now if I could just get through a weekend without my kitten, I'll be fine.