In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sometimes a bit jealous of my DH’s lifestyle. All those trips to exotic locations, restaurant meals that don’t deteriorate into feeding time at the zoo, sightseeing outings and hotel rooms.
He’s even picked up for work in a private car – the airline has a fleet of ‘silver dream cars’ that spirit our husbands away from it all, at any time of day or night, and deliver them home a few days later.
You get the gist. I could point out the hard parts of his job too. But I won’t. Suffice to say, if the Travel Channel is on, I’m never too surprised to hear him say, “Oh look, I was just there the other day,” or “I walked past that yesterday.”
“Really?” I’ll reply, raising my housewifely eyebrows and trying not to turn lime green with envy.
Anyway, the other week the tables turned! I’ve been doing some work for a new client – a PR company run by an Iraqi entrepreneur, and he asked me to accompany him to a press luncheon at the Capital Club, Dubai’s premier private business club, catering to the top echelons of enterprise, finance and government.
A whole different UNIVERSE from Chuck E. Cheese’s.
A driver took us there in a corporate car; the silver-service lunch comprised three mouth-watering courses of French cuisine; I met some really nice, experienced journalists, and got to nosey round four floors of elegant lounges, ambient dining options and wood-panelled meeting rooms.
I could have settled in quite happily at the club’s outdoor shisha terrace and tent (or even in the cigar room), but it was when we were shown the boutique hotel facility that my mind really started racing. DH was safely ensconced at home with the children, and there I was, staring at a beautifully appointed, 700-square-foot bedroom, with what looked like 1,500-thread-count Egyptian comfort sheets on the bed and butler service, 24/7.
I wonder if they’d notice if I stayed, I thought. Just overnight. After all, I’m sure my invite to become a member is on the way. Must just be lost in the post.