On being the press

The other day I invited my mother to come with me to visit the Philadelphia Art Museum and the city’s Rodin Museum. She was ironing at the time, preparing her bags for winter in Florida.

“How much do those museums cost these days?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m the press.”
“Why are you depressed?” she asked.

I said, “I’m THE press.”
She said, “That’s not good, you shouldn’t be depressed.”
“THE… PRESS.”

My mother set aside her iron.
“Is it because of your website?” she said. “You just have get word out that it’s there. When people see it they’re sure to love it.”

“You don’t understand. I’m the press. I’m a travel writer.”
“I know, and you’re very good at it. So it shouldn’t get you down.”
“I’m THE… PRESS.”
“By why? Is it because no one’s traveling to France due to the bad economy. You just have to ride it out and keep doing what you enjoy. So many people would love to have your freedom.”

“I’m still THE… PRESS.”
“Well you shouldn’t be! You have so much going for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

This continued for several minutes until I showed my mother my press pass.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. “You would tell me if you were really depressed though, wouldn’t you?”

I’m not so sure now. Still, another year has come to an end and I don’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve. So I think I’ll just stay at home and be the press.

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