Deciding to depart mid-tangent, I pulled my own bag into the lobby of what had to be the most fabulous hotel on the planet. Vaulted cathedral ceilings, bright glistening chandeliers, Niagara Falls–size water fountains, and warm courteous smiles, willing to provide me with whatever I needed. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so bad after all.

Quickly, my thoughts of ho-dom were replaced with a new philosophy: dropping me off at a hotel was a sign of respect. Of chivalry. Clearly a signal from Graham that I was more than just the hot buttered piece of Thanksgiving meat. Yes, Graham was a gentleman, and I was a lady. His lady. Like a Hindu cow, I was sacred. He was preserving me for the greater good. A deeper love. A lifetime love. Graham was saving me from myself, for unlike my old self I was now a lady. His lady. To be praised, to be honored, to be worshiped.

Reaching the front desk, I was handed my room key and pointed in the direction of the elevator.

“What floor would you like?”

They even have an elevator attendant. A cute one too. “Eleven.”

“Oh, the penthouse suite. Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

My only desire was to get in the room, relax, take a hot bath, and reflect on Graham’s earlier talk of lifetime. The room was spacious. It had a foyer and a hallway that led to either the bedroom on the left, or a full living room to the right, a wet bar, and what looked like a one-thousand-inch television screen. Tired and worn, I chose the bedroom to the left. There was a custom-made king-size bed with thick and fluffy pillows. Ruffled burgundy drapes opened to a view of Michigan Avenue’s Magnificent Mile. Even the bathroom was grand, with two sinks, a sunken tub, and a separate steam shower. The perfect atmosphere for reflecting.

Reflecting…reflecting…“RRRRRRRRRing!!!” Oh my God. It’s Graham calling. It has to be Graham. He’s had a change of heart. He changed his mind and was waiting for me downstairs, calling to tell me that he wanted to take me to his house. “RRRRRRRRing!” Where is that damn cell phone? I rummaged through my purse as if the phone were a check from the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes and Ed McMahon himself was standing there to cash it. Yes, I rummaged. With peach-scented sweat dripping from my now not-too-freshly-diddo, I rummaged. “RRRRRRRing!!”

Please don’t stop ringing. He’ll think I’ve fallen asleep and then not call back. He’ll shut off his phone and the night will be ruined. Where is that damn phone?! Phone, please, phone please. There it is! Quickly I snatched the flip open, nearly breaking it, rushing it to my ear.

“Hello!!! Hello!! Hello!”