Queen of the River

Yesterday my husband and I were invited aboard The American Queen, the largest and grandest of the lusty ladies that float tourists to our town and other sightly sites on the Ohio and Mississippi.



















It's a cool boat, and not to be mistaken for a ship, or so they tell me. It has the amenities of a fine hotel, with priceless (aren't they all?) antiques and impeccable decor reflecting the best of the south. Our host, who has taken dozens of cruises, said that he had relaxed more on this cruise than any other. No wonder. I, too, could relax if someone would take over the bed-making, cooking, dish washing, and most especially vacuuming.
It would be relaxing to sit in a rocker on the deck and stare at the shore, except seeing our car parked down there reminded me that we need an oil change.
I tried sitting in the ladies parlor reading today's paper, but I became agitated about world conflict, elections and other stressful matters. It would be nice to sit in one of the several bars and sip a mint julep, but that is the most disgusting cocktail ever invented. No wonder the south lost the war. They went from a colossal sugar high into an historic sugar nosedive.
As for me, there was one offering of the Queen that pulled my heartstrings more than any other: they had an endless supply of Starbucks coffee. And plenty of restrooms.