Before you start with the Michelle Obama comparisons--remember it is the OFF season down here, and I got the place for what a house on the Outer Banks would have cost--and that's a house a street back from the beach.
|Our swimmin' hole|
|Back Porch View|
The next moment that gets me uptight is boarding. I love Southwest, 'cause I always pay the 10 dollars to get into the "A" group. We were flying USAIR and were assigned group 3--i don't know what this means. I have no idea whether or not this is a good thing for four people flying only with carry-on bags. I only know that there's no way I'm not going to be in the front of the group 3 line. So five minutes before we are to board--the kitten needs to go to the bathroom. Naturally.
Carry on luggage is a particular point of angst for me (I can see Goldwater's Ghost at his computer now, laughing and snarfing coffee through his nose as I confirm every one of his views of me with this post). I despise the ridiculous circus that is the gaining of overhead space. If I can't be in an early boarding group with a near GUARANTEE of overhead space--I'll check my bag, no matter how small. The Kitten? She maintains that she's never in her traveling life been denied overhead space near her seat, and she's not going to vary her routine one bit in order to ensure it. One simply cannot reason with this woman.
We land in Charlotte with thirty minutes between flights. On the way to our gate, I suggest we stop and make a bathroom break (as we pass bathrooms). The Kitten (who has "practices" of her own) wants to get to our gate first, then re-deploy. At this point, I gotta pee like a racehorse, but I dutifully skulk along. We get to the gate, I claim "first" as I really got to go, and I run off to the men's room. I return expeditiously, without stopping for coffee, nourishment or magazine, so that none of my family will be inconvenienced by my absence (they are watching the bags, should some officious TSA person stroll by). I return and pass the baton--at which point the three of them make off for what can only be described as an extended shopping trip--to the point that they announce "pre-boarding" and my brood is nowhere to be found. Those of you who know me (again, GG) probably realize that by this point, I'm about to go high order....
So last night as I lounged in our plunge pool, I suggested a compromise. I suggested that we travel separately, together. That is, I have my bag, my passport, my boarding pass. I get to proceed through the airport at breakneck pace, responsible only for myself--while the Kitten(s) lolllygag behind, looking at shiny things and the latest Teen-beat magazines. I get on the plane with or without them, and if they arrive late with no overhead space, I am responsible for nothing. They must deal with the sexy Stews, whilst I sit calmly and smugly with my Kindle.
If they miss a flight, I'll meet them there. I'll have the room ready for them. I'll make them drinks and food when they arrive. 'Cause that's the kind of guy I am.