I learned an important lesson today: don’t ask a surburban dweller to commute downtown during rush hour. It does terrible, unspeakable things to said person’s blood pressure. 30 miles in 102 minutes. *shudder*
I had to visit the convention center for a company event. Had to be there from 8:30 (got there at 8:43) until 11:30. As I was walking out of the convention center to go back to my car, I was presented with a moral debate of epic proportions.
There in front of me, on the first pleasant day of the end of summer, larger than life, calling my name, was Minute Maid Park. The beautiful bastion of baseball reaching out toward the sky, beckoning me with the reminder that today was a day game. And there I was, a mere hour and a half before first pitch, contemplating how much much I would actually be missed back at the office.
I thought about it for a few minutes, then decided that sitting at a ball game in the heat of the day in my dark dress pants and pantyhose wouldn’t be pleasant. Which, of course, was just my rationalization for capitulating to the worldly demands of my nonexistent career. 
Of course, if I had remembered at that moment that today’s game was possibly The Rocket’s last regular season start at the Juice Box, my conscience may have reached an entirely different outcome. 
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