Nick and I, along with my sister Carmen and her beau Tom, are off to New York City, the backdrop for my cousin’s wedding. This has been a much anticipated event in my side of the family. Weddings are usually an enormous gathering of my cousins from all over the country and this will be no exception.
Geri, my cousin, and her fiancee Jim are in the NYC elite, selecting some of the finest establishments the Big Apple has to offer to hold their prenuptial festivities. Of course Nick and I are there to witness love sanctified by the sacrament, but it sure doesn’t hurt when you get to have brunch at the Waldorf or dance your patooty off at Cipriani’s where, word on the street claims, P-Diddy had his birthday party. The most exciting part, though, is for my whole family to be together and getting to hug my NYC, where I feel my blood runs most smoothly.
I was born a little outside the city in New Jersey and lived in both states before my family moved to OH-IO in gradeschool. Growing up, we frequently went back to visit our family who swear by the east coast waters. I must admit, while Ohio is my home, my heart still beats for the east coast too. It’s the same way Nick feels about Russia. We live in different places as we get older and we love where we are, but, had life gone in separate directions, he’d choose Russia. I’d choose NYC. Dorothy said it best, “There’s no place like home.” So, we’ve packed our Sunday best, and then some, and are headed off to drive to the Big Apple tonight. We’re staying over in a hotel a little outside the city before driving in Friday morning and then we’ll be back late Sunday night.
While making the hotel reservations last night, I was having problems getting my perfectly clear American Express to go through in the reservation. I ended up calling American Express and spoke with Loraine who explained the card had been temporarily on hold in hopes that I would call because they noticed suspicious activity on my card. Some fool tried to buy Travelocity tickets and other purchases on the internet. I was furious with this nameless, faceless phantom who tried to use my card. I was half-panicked that someone was pretending to be me, doting a black wig and sunglasses, signing my unmistakably long name Ana Lisa F. Factora-Borchers on each and every purchase. The thought made me sick. Nick, the steady hand in sticky situations, was not too alarmed.
Nick reasoned, “Well, at least they denied those charges. We’re not paying for anything that we didn’t buy.”
“I DON’T WANT TO PAY FOR SOMEONE TO VACATION IN THE BAHAMAS!”
He replied,”We’re not. And if they try again, American Express will deny it again because of what happened today.”
“WHAT IF IT GOES THROUGH TOMORROW WHEN THEY TRY AGAIN?!”
Nick looks to the side as he always does in thought, “Well, we’ll call and cancel the card, explain the situation, and then they’ll revoke the charges.”
I calmed down, “I just don’t like the idea of some fool trying to be me.”
Nick is turning his interest to the laptop, “Yeah, but it’s just someone trying to use your card number. They probably won’t try again because everything was denied.”
I get fired up again, “I PRESSED LORAINE TO TELL ME DETAILS SO I CAN FIND THIS IMPOSTER.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I want to say to this fool, ‘You want to be me? Just try it. I’ll kick your ass if you try to be me.’ Then, I’d ask them, ‘You think you could pull off being me?’ It’s not easy to be me, you know.”
Nick was patiently waiting for my rage to spill over, listening to my rants, “That’s for sure. Now help me pick out what to wear to the brunch.”