I had a flashback this morning to five weeks ago, when I was packing for an upcoming trip. My grown son, Cheetah Boy, crashed into my bedroom without knocking as usual, and asked me what I was doing.

“I’m packing my suitcase,” I replied, with a swimsuit in my hand. “As you can see.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m going to South Africa.”

His entire body shook with shock and dismay. “What do you mean, you’re going to South Africa? Why didn’t I know about this?”

I looked at him. “Um, because you never ask me anything about myself?” I told him. “If you’d ever inquired about my life in the last several months, I probably would have mentioned it.”

My son still lives with me, in the same bedroom he’s occupied since he was a munchkin. On a typical evening, he’ll burst into my room, inform me of how work went that day, usually focusing on what went wrong. Then, after he finishes his description, he’s done with our daily chat. He leaves and closes my door behind him.

The only time he has any interest whatsoever in my life is if it will benefit him, as in, “Mom, are you placing a grocery order? Will you get me some (insert foodstuff here)?”

His sister used to be the same when she was a teenager, but now that she’s a young married mother, she seems to have developed an odd interest in my life. To the point of actually asking me what I’m doing on a regular basis, which used to be utterly irrelevant.

I pointed out to my son that if he wanted to know what I was doing, perhaps he could occasionally ask me. It still hasn’t happened, but you never know what the future holds.

Anyway, my friend and I were able to mooch a ride from him to that wonderful institution known as LAX, land of inconvenience, confusion, disdain and dirty bathrooms. Nowadays, if you’re gimpy like me and need a wheelchair to your gate in the international terminal, they make you walk back to the front of the terminal, take an elevator to the second floor and walk over to a special area, where you must sit and wait for a wheelchair to eventually show up. This can be quite difficult if you don’t walk all that well to start with.

Eventually (some time before the Rapture) a wheelchair attendant will show up and take you into the bowels of the terminal, where you have to get out of that wheelchair and get into an electric cart, with a bunch of other people, cramming your suitcase onto your lap, and wait until the cart is full to be conveyed to your gate. I’ve been in airports all over the world, and I must say this is among the most annoying and inconvenient systems I’ve ever encountered.

Anyway, we did eventually make it onto our Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul, where we had a long layover and then got onto another flight to Johannesburg, South Africa. Not counting the layover, we spent 24 hours in the air on two flights. In case you haven’t done this, that’s a long frickin’ time to be on an airplane. At least they give you free wine or beer, but it’s still not enough to make the time speed by.

After what seemed like 300 days, we did arrive in South Africa, which I’d wanted to visit for many years. When we arrived in Jo’burg, we flopped face down onto our hotel beds and basically slept until the next morning. Then we got up and took a bus several hours to White River, which is near Kruger National Park.

Our package included an all-day guided wildlife safari in the park. My friend Laura and I had both been on safari in Kenya and seen many wild animals, so we had an open mind, but weren’t drooling with anticipation. It was a long day crammed into the safari van, but we did see the critters you want to see on a safari, including lions, zebras, giraffes, elephants and such.

The safaris in Kenya were better, with more animals, but it was still worth our time, of course. We were staying in beautiful luxury tents with private decks, and that was a treat as well. The weather was warm and perfect, because it’s summer in Africa right now. We met numerous fellow travelers, including professors and Brits. Everyone we met asked us about Donald Trump before they even learned our names.

I want to tell you more about our trip, but I’m out of room. So check back next week, and I’ll do a better job of filling you in. Meanwhile, try to avoid the lions.