Traveling the World is romantic, exhilarating, life changing—and just not my thing. When I was young and carefree, I hitchhiked through Nepal…okay, I was never young and carefree—I was the 7-year-old yelling at the other kids to quit throwing stuff before they put someone's eye out, and, if you must know, it was actually my friend Adele who hiked through Nepal. I would have gone, but every time I weighed snowcapped mountains against toasted English muffins and a pedicure, questing for a backpack full of experience always finished second. It isn't that I don't sometimes gaze up at the moon and dream about uncharted territory—but since I'm rarely able to make it to the dry cleaner before he closes, getting myself to the moon seems like a real long shot. So these days when I'm in the mood to observe a bleak, dust-covered terrain with no detectable signs of life, I mix up a tall glass of Tang and check out my bedroom.

Given this overwhelming desire of mine to remain swaddled in a queen-size duvet eating Jell-O sugar-free chocolate pudding for the rest of my natural days, it is one of life's great ironies that I hooked up with a man who lives on another continent. Regular readers know that Johannes Labusch (my love monkey of 14 years as well as the father of my child) resides in Zurich. This means that I am sometimes called upon to pay a visit.