Well dear readers, I made it to Nashville. My journey has not been without it’s neurotic fits (my closet) and losses (my bifocals) yet so far, it has been joy all the way around.

My closet did indeed finally birth not three, but four acceptable outfits for me to wear. I neglected to check the weather (ice sleeting here) and so I’m cold, but hey, I’m dressed. Besides, I wasn’t packing for weather, I was packing for comfort, and guessed mood. That is not easy to do. I guessed right and I’m happy; even if I was shaking out of my boots before the summit started from nerves at least I looked cute doing it. Yes, I really can be that vane – sorry.

I spent this morning at Lens Crafters replacing my lost glasses, and the people in the hotel – and the highways of Nashville are singing songs of praise today. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the case last night when I drove from the airport to the hotel (20 miles away) with my prescription sunglasses at night. Nope, I’m pretty sure that last night, there were more people cursing me than blessing me. And I’m not walking around squinting at people anymore.

I only had one, slightly alarming incident once I arrived. I was heading downstairs to look around when two older business men got into my elevator. One man seems normal enough and behind him stumbles in this fellow in a comb over, with a scotch on the rocks in his hands. Drunk guy takes one look at me, staggers backwards, grabs his chest and slurs “My God! you look amashzing!”

I squinted at him and notice his buddy is leaning against the wall, staring at his shoes. Thanks for helping me out pal.

My new fan, finds the back wall and leans on it while the elevator decends the remaining six floors. Hours pass (or so it feels) and my fan is now leaning forward staring intensly at my red and black duster. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to vomit only he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and rubs my arm and jacket sleeve with out any warning whatsoever. Shocked I pull away to look at him, but he just keeps reaching, and asks who made it.

The doors open and I bolted out of the elevator and into the lobby. My friends never made it, I think he passed out.

My answer to his inquest, comes to me at 3 in the morning, while I’m sound asleep and wakes me up.

“Who made my jacket? My tailors – Smith and Wesson. The same people who make my pepper spray!”

Proud of myself for my brilliant middle of the night rebuttal, I go back to sleep. By morning, I’m refreshed, full of coffee, and I think this is funny – so I tell my husband all about it when I call him to say goodmorning.

He didn’t think it was funny. Granted it could have something to do with how I worded it. “I got felt up in the elevator by some drunk guy in a comb over. Kinda creeped me out, but I”m okay now.”

That probably wasn’t the best way to put that when talking on the phone to my husband while he’s driving to work.

Know what I mean?