Many mysteries loom over the Chicago trip. Some things are known.
One, we were in fact in Chicago. Two, we were there so I could see this painting, have an awakening, and finish writing my epic, never-ending novel, that is currently going nowhere, like this sentence, apparently.
Three, J. Peterman read about my caper and SENT DRESSES TO ALL GIRLS GOOD ENOUGH TO ACCOMPANY ME (READ: RISK THEIR LIVES) in pursuit of the Lark. Yes, he did. And you should have seen the girls faces when we checked into the room. You shoulda. Ribbons, box tops and tissue paper everywhere. Fantastic.
But, there are still a few things unknown to yours truly. And here's one of them. Look closely at the above picture. Behind the boxes, you will see a long, rose-colored, cylindrical pillow. See it?
Okay, now look closely at the public displays of affection I appear to be bestowing upon it in the lobby of the hotel, where things of such a 'nature' are not encouraged. Can anyone explain this? I'm serious.
I have two theories. One, I was already in bed at the hour this photo was taken, like a very good girl, and these other hooligans pulled me from said bed, pillow still in tow.
The second theory is more colorful, and I hesitate to implicate myself needlessly with slanderous details. But still, I'm curious. If anyone was in the greater Chicago area on Saturday night and knows anything about the case of the Public Pillow, please write.
Another, even bigger mystery: Who in the hell is this 'gentleman,' and why was he following us around with a camera all weekend?
I know there were a few elderly ladies who put him to a similar line of questioning. Will look into this one further tomorrow. For now, back to the pillow.