CONRAD
I’m leaving my board meeting in Miami when my wife calls me.
“Mrs Hilton?” I press the elevator button.
“Hey, how did the meeting go?” She reduces the volume of the tv in the background.
“Not good, somehow they got the acres measurements wrong so we have to start all over again.” The elevator dings open.
“I’m sorry but I think I have news that could cheer you up,” she actually squeals.
“I’m listening,” I could use a bit of cheering up right now.
“Honeymoon redo!” She claps her hands, “since our first honeymoon was such a bust—”
“—because you wouldn’t stop sulking.” I recall seeing Barron more than my wife during our first honeymoon.
“Yeah—yeah, so I was thinking we go on a redo before the kids come and before I blow up like balloon.” She’s walking somewhere.
“You’re
