NO PIECE OF CAKE

The less said the better about a day that requires bed hopping for a simple good morning cuddle. The Blue Light Special packed sullenly, refusing to wear long pants because he wanted to prolong the appearance of warmth up until the last minute of his vacation.

We got into a huge fight about where to find the cheap gas station which we had passed three nights running and then an even bigger one about how to get to the Florida Turnpike. When we finally located Race Trac, the cost of gas had increased by two cents, but even at $2.09 per gallon it was the cheapest price we filled up with during the entire vacation. The Blue Light Special complained that he hadn't been able to get matches. This signaled that he was determined to the smoke the joint that had been given to him by the party-loving friend of Thug Lover who also had left behind a half-full bottle of vodka.

I suggested instead that he hide it in the bottom of an Orbit gum pack. He did, expecting me to be the mule so we could smoke it together this summer in the Pines.

I don't want to carry it on the airplane he said.

Why should the risk be mine? I asked.

Even with a return trip to Cinnabon, the drive south on the Florida Turnpike left us with plenty of time for a quick midday tour of Palm Beach. The Blue Light Special grew more petulant, complaining about the scenery and getting into one of his interminable rants about a country and a political system that allows a place like Palm Beach to flourish.

You're just jealous you'll never be invited inside one of these beautiful homes I rebutted.

Almost as if to prove the decadence of the community, an old man with a bad case of Parkinson's pulled up beside us in a Jaguar with U.S. Marines Corps license plates.

In Germany they wouldn't allow this man to drive screeched the Blue Light Special.

I ignored him, pulling into the Breakers, driving along Worth Avenue and searching for Mar a Lago, the famed estate that Donald Trump once listed at $125 million, making it the most expensive residential property in the world. The Blue Light Special always brings up Donald Trump when he wants to vilify America so I thought he might be interested. He wasn't.

Would you consider a fast food meal? I asked when we were back on Interstate 25.

When he said he would I gave him three choices: McDonald's, Taco Bell or Arby's.

What's Arby's? I've never heard of it.

I liked their roast beef sandwiches as a kid I answered, interpreting his question as assent. Big mistake.

The Blue Light Special couldn't decide what he wanted when faced with the bewildering number of choices on a menu that had been greatly expanded since my last visit to the franchise in early 70s. He finally consented to try the smallest possible roast beef sandwich and then ate it with the same enthusiasm that a five-year-old might show for raw broccoli. Thoroughly fed up, I decided the vacation had ended.

Back in the car, I asked him to reach into the glove box and hand me my CD carrying case. When he refused, I launched into a diatribe about his ingratitude.

You didn't even thank me for lunch! I yelled.

He seized up this as the reason for my anger, deliberating ignoring the larger picture of his childish behavior throughout the day.

Do you want me to pay for the sandwich? he asked.

He certainly does know when to pick his moments I thought with a chuckle despite my anger. Then he had the nerve to suggest that I drop him off at his terminal instead of accompanying me to Alamo to turn in the rental car as we had planned.

You'll have more time in Florida he argued, as if I cared about an extra hour my later flight afforded me.

While gassing up, he gave me an ultimatum.

If you aren't going to take the joint then I'm going to throw it away he said as I prepared to discard a bag of trash.

Throw it away, then I said.

He dropped the Orbit pack into the bag. As soon as I was out of sight, I removed it and stuck in it my back pocket. Waste not, want not, but make him suffer a little bit, too, I figured.

Neither of us had much to say while turning in the car. When I learned that I couldn't apply the discount I had forgotten to use when renting the car, he gave the agent a hard time.

You just lost a customer he said, as we walked away.

We boarded a shuttle bus. When it arrived at his terminal the Blue Light Special retrieved his luggage and got off before tapping on the window and motioning for me to get off, too. I waved instead and that was how our nine days--the longest period we've ever spent together--ended.

The relationship, however, picked up right where it left off eight hours later when the phone rang.

How was your flight? Mine was delayed for 2 1/2 hours" he said blithely.

Would I take the Blue Light Special with me on vacation again? Of course. Even though we left each other on barely speaking terms, my anger typically subsides as it would with a bratty child whom you nonetheless love dearly. I’m sure more mature traveling companions could be found, but few derive as much pleasure from life as he does.

I’m no piece of cake, either.