You told me I was the neatest thing

You told me I was the neatest thing

I'm sitting here in a hotel room in Boston and the people in the room next door have their tv on way too loud and my mom and I just watched "The Last Song" so if I were at home right now I would be browsing through pictures of Miley Cyrus and mourning the fact that I don't have an adorable boyfriend from either Australia, New Zealand, or Southern California.  But if I were at home right now I wouldn't be able to tell you that I've spent a few too many hours with my mom and I wouldn't be able to tell you that she told me not to write about her in my blog.  So here we are.

We're taking a duck tour of Boston tomorrow and neither my mom nor I are particularly excited about it but it was a gift from my dad's business partners here in Boston so we're taking it anyway, arriving a half hour early just like we're supposed to even though it means getting up before seven a.m. when it's the summer and we're on vacation.   Today we went to the over-cluttered Isabella Staurt Gardener Museum as well as the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, where I walked by too many Renaissance altarpieces before finally finding the Van Goghs and the Monets and the Degas(s?) and the Renoirs.

Our last college tour is Brandeis on Tuesday and then we're finally, finally heading home.  I think I've seen enough schools to have established my top two at least, but I'm not going to tell you, or you, or anyone, which schools they are, because I hate competition and disappointment and pity and jealousy and bragging rights.  I'll expand on that further, I suppose, when I'm home in my own room at my own desk with my own computer and am not in some hotel room in Boston using my dad's old laptop with my mom sitting up in bed behind me, not complaining but probably silently annoyed that it's ten o'clock and I have yet to brush my teeth.  She's not a fan of the "I'm a teenager" excuse.