It was about 1 o’clock in the morning and the free shuttle dropped us off at the motel lobby close to Atlanta airport.

I had missed my last connecting flight.

I was dead tired and I just wanted a place to crash.

A couple who had shared the shuttle with me seemed to be in the same situation. While I checked in, the wife looked around and started to complain:

‘This place stinks! I won’t stay here!’

‘It’s just Lysol!’, says the husband.

‘No, it’s not! Look at this place!’

‘Pleeeeease, it’s just Lysol!’, he begs.

‘Let’s look for another hotel!’

‘Please, it’s one in the morning and our flight leaves in a few hours!’

‘I won’t stay here!’

I felt bad for the husband and tried to intervene:

‘It’s just for a few hours. It doesn’t make sense looking for another place.’

Her husband smiled but she fired at me with her eyes and sized me up.

‘You don’t even look high maintenance, bitch!”, my eyes fired back at her.

‘Can you drive us to another hotel?’, she asked to the shuttle driver.

‘He can drive you back to the airport’, intervened the receptionist, rolling his eyes.

The driver, the receptionist and I had to try our best not to cheer.

The next morning I saw them at the airport lobby looking like zombies.

I am starting to worry about getting old lately.

My mother has osteoporosis and a free pharmacy test showed I lack calcium. Although I have decent ground strokes in tennis my bones are supposedly weak.

I love the sun but I hate milk so that might be true.

So nothing drives me crazier than when my husband (like so many others) tries to get the closest possible parking spot to the entrance of wherever we are going.

He knows I’m going to start my never-ending speech on why you should walk as much as you can while you are young and healthy because one day the most basic things you do everyday that you take for granted now will be the most excruciating task and no I’m not talking about being able to drive and park in the handicapped spot but about being able to take a few steps therefore let’s park far away so we’ll have a great opportunity to walk and you are less likely to get into a parking lot fender-bender and I know how much you care about your car you love it more than you care about me yes it’s true…

My little sister, on the other hand, considers herself an awful driver and parks as far as possible from the crowd. Her spoiled teen daughter complains and has to hear a version of my speech.

Also read: How to Drive Your Husband Crazy.
Coming soon: A list of suggestions on how to drive your wife crazy will be posted here.

• Empty bottles
• Broken glasses
• Stained sheets

• Wrinkled clothes
• Unwoven pantyhose
• Where’s the other shoe?

• Hair from all over
• All over

• The make-up has run-off
• The hair is disheveled
• Crows feet in a scarecrow’s face

• A killer hangover
• A deadly bad breath
• My kingdom for some Tic Tacs

• What’s worse?
• Having forgotten the toothbrush?
• Or how did you end up there?

One of these days my new coworker and I were having that typical “Where do you live” introductory conversation.

I told him I like the neighborhood where I live now but I think it’s too quiet. But I’m not complaining, I clarified, since my partying years are pretty much over.

He laughed and said how our priorities change when picking a place to live.

When you are young, you want to know how many bars there are in the neighborhood. Next time you are worried with schools for your children. Finally, all that matters is if there’s a hospital nearby.

The conversation reminded me of my mother-in-law.

She uses to say that when you are young you get invited to bachelor parties, bachelorette parties, weddings, baby showers, baptisms and graduations and there’s a child birthday party to go to almost every weekend.

Years fly by and suddenly you find yourself being invited to attend funerals.

My coworker dressed up as a mean nurse for the Halloween costume contest at our office in downtown Miami.

After getting her little daughter ready for school she was late for work. She lives in Kendall, a bit far from downtown. So she thought it wouldn’t hurt to enter the highway before the end of the grid lines so she’d get to full speed quicker. What were the odds a police officer would stop her? Well, she did get pulled over.

The officer was a tough guy, she tells me, almost scary.

She takes her sunglasses off and looks at him. I can just imagine her unaffected expression of “what have I possibly done wrong?”

The officer starts the typical speech. “Do you know I could fine your for that?”

“Oh, he’ll take a big bite from my paycheck!”

Three or four “Do you knows” later the officer softens up. “But since you heal people I’ll let you go.”

She decided to forget all the teachings about truth and honesty and principles and concentrated on how luck she was.

“Oh, thank you so much!”

After she was released she realized the plastic stethoscope was exposed in the back seat.

Had the officer seen it she’d have said. “Oh, that’s my daughter’s.”

To what the officer would’ve replied. “Oh, does she heal people too?”

BTW, her costume was perfect! But, for obvious reasons, I can’t post a picture of it here.

I think I once dreamed of grandeur, like many.

A fast-paced life, non-stop excitement, parties, a big house, expensive cars, boats, travel, wine and dine, beautiful clothes, more shoes than Imelda Marcos, funding a couple of startups, a million friends (the Facebook ones wouldn’t count), going to bed late and waking up late.

Maybe I got a little bit of some of those, maybe not. But today I know what a perfect day in my life is like and I believe I get it all the time.

Here’s how it typically goes.

On Saturday and/or Sunday (simplified routine on weekdays):

I sleep late. I wake up late.

I wonder around the house in nightgowns and barefoot until I am completely awake while having a cup of coffee.

I play tennis!

I head to the beach to wash out the sweat and relax the muscles.

I float in the blue ocean like a buoy for about two hours.

I check my tan. The darker the better. In the land of my ancestors I would be the lowest possible cast.

I take a shower. (Showers after the beach and tennis are the best!)

I have my favorite booze, and also my home country’s favorite: caipirinha.

I go to some Argentinean or Cuban bakery for breakfast and a mandatory cafe con leche. Strong full-bodied coffee and whole milk. Decaf and skim are cheating.

I have lunch. Currently I’m on a Peruvian phase checking all the ceviches around town.

I save dessert for a bistro or patisserie, where I have yet another coffee. That will keep me awake after the lunch laziness.

I drive around town. I wander, I dream, I window shop. I buy completely useless knickknacks for the house and much-needed clothes and shoes for myself. Oh, yeah!

I come back home and sit on a zero gravity chair overlooking the blue infinite mesmerizing ocean and try to read but normally I fall asleep.

I wake up and the same (perhaps even more beautiful) blue infinite mesmerizing ocean is still there. (Such a blessing!)

Perhaps a movie next. And checking if there’s a moon lighting up the ocean at night.

There you go. I don’t really think I need a life of grandeur and I am ready for the week ahead as a dead weight for the society.

Sometimes little things bring you so much satisfaction.

I have been shopping for a doormat for quite some time. No matter how basic the item I want to purchase is I want to find just the perfect one. The extended shopping process gives me an extra joy.

I am talking about a doormat. But not just an obvious ‘Welcome’ doormat. One should turn everything in life special. And what’s more special than family and friends coming to my home?

I wanted a doormat with the ‘Welcome’ in my mother tongue. I was looking for one in my home country. I’d ship it to a friend and he’d bring it when he visited me.

Then I had this brilliant (pardon my lack of humbleness) idea: Personalize it and buy it locally.

I am so happy with my Goldilocks doormat.

And it’s bilingual, for my Brazilian friends and my English-speaking local friends.

Check it out:

My husband and I went to this cool Halloween party.

The crowd was artistic and eclectic but the best thing was the fact they all seemed to be above 25 years old.

If you are passed that age by a few years (or a lot of years) you know what I mean. You will understand the words they use and the references they make.

But that’s not what my post is about.

Having had a busy week we decided to pick a simple costume. One that wouldn’t require a big production and anybody would know the moment they see you. Oh, A and B! Cool!

Or so we thought.

I got so many puzzled faces and was asked if the Japanese flag had changed from the red sunset to yellow sunrise. Which would make a better flag, I thought, since their red circle means war.

My husband was mistaken for another flag, the British one. He was also called Peter Pan and Robin Hood.

Well, here we are. Make your guesses:

If nobody gets it right I am going to sue the manufacturer because it was a final sale and I can’t return the costume!

Hint: Look at the title.

I found that on the Internet and saved it together with the picture.

I don’t remember when and how.

Googling it back, I can’t find any information about it.

Do you know who wrote it?

Does it belong to a song?

Is it cheesy? Beautiful?

It hit something inside me…