Ladies Who Breakfast

When you're a desperate housewife in Naperville, you head downtown to join the ladies who lunch.
When you're desperate trophy wife in San Jose, you head back to the swanky hotel for breakfast with the other conference widows.
I'm not usually one to push myself forward, but since no one knew how shy and retiring I really am, there was no point in letting them into the secret.
So armed with a bowl of oatmeal from the buffet, I plonked myself down at a table with a few other women.
Turns out some of them are seasoned conference widows. They follow their husbands around the country, shopping and sightseeing while their husbands work.
"How shallow," I thought, checking that I had remembered to bring my ticket for today's trip.
Some had been coming for many years. They knew each other and talked fondly of that time in San Diego or the one in Chicago, or was it New York?
Seems I've been missing out all these years. After half an hour or so, I realised how useful it was that Grumpy bought me with, and I don't mean just to tidy up the bathroom.
I could sightsee all day so he could return not only with all the information he had gathered at the conference, but also a full working knowledge of San Jose, even though he's not going to have time to actually see any of it.