Back home

I’m back from vacation in Texas.

The flight was uneventful, except for the fact that it was packed flight and I was placed in the Worst Possible Seat on the airplane. (24D). It was the aisle seat on the very back row; you know, the one where you get bumped by every person going to-and-from the toilet and by speeding service carts being shoved in and out of the galley by frantic flight attendants. It’s also the one closest to the toilet-smells. And it’s also the one that doesn’t lean back because it’s in the last row, abutting the aforementioned toilet.

Of course, the guy in front of me insisted on being as comfortable as possible by leaning his seat ALL the way back into my lap. He was probably all of five-foot-four and was wearing green cowboy boots. Really. Green cowboy boots. Security officers should not have allowed someone like that on the plane.

As I was flying back to Chicago with my knees in my chest, I got out my i-Pod and was listening to Mozart’s Queen of the Night aria from “The Magic Flute.” I don’t know what happened, but I got teary-eyed. Then the tears started rolling. I don’t know what caused that. Maybe it was just “letting down” from seeing my family, etc.

So, there I was, just letting the waterworks fly while listening to opera while a line passengers waited to use the toilet next to me.
God, that’s lame.

Anyway, I got back to Chicago and as I was walking with my suitcase across the bridge next to my apartment building, I heard, “Duuuude!”

It was Miss Healthypants on her way home from the grocery store. Can you believe that?? Eight million people in the city and I run into MHP right off the bat.

It’s good to be home.