My #2 and I spent 22 hours in the car together driving to her new home away from home – a freshman college dorm in the great state of Virginia.
We did it in two days, stopping overnight in Nashville. The scenery was beautiful and we did not hit one spot of traffic. We passed the exits for Graceland and Dollywood, sped by about 3 million Cracker Barrels, and a plethora of McDonalds, Burger Kings, and every other godawful fast food franchise known to man.
We arrived safely and the Mister flew in the following day with a tool box in hand to aid in making #2’s dorm room look and feel like home.
I will cover the move in a future post, but for now bear with me while I bore you with the trials and tribulations of our trip home.
During the week prior, I had been doing more than my share of emotional eating. I hadn’t eaten at a McDonalds in about 10 years and yet during the road trip I consumed an egg mcmuffin, big mac, whopper with large fries, and enough car snacks to fill Yankee Stadium. And then, when we finally arrived, I was not shy about ordering from the dessert menu and had no problem keeping the bartenders busy filling my wine glass. (After all, my designated driver was going to college!)
Anyway, the morning we left for home, the Mister and I had a big breakfast at the hotel. Or rather, I had a big one. The Mister (health nut) had fruit and yogurt and had the nerve to tell me he overate. I, on the other hand, trying to fill the void left from leaving #2 thousands of miles away, devoured a greasy old omelet, bagel, and hash browns.
Our flight was delayed for 4 hours and so we had to make arrangements for another connecting flight. So what’s a girl to do but chow down on a roast beef hogie, chips, trail mix, and some old, half-opened, sticky jolly ranchers found on the bottom of her purse. The Mister had a hand full of unsalted almonds. Enough said.
We finally settled in for the first leg of our journey home. We were on a small plane (the size of a matchbox) and the Mister and I lucked out by getting 2 seats in the last row of the plane across from the lavatory.
I learned two things from this flight:
1. I would rather strap myself to the wing than sit in this seat again.
2. When someone is in the lavatory for more than 10 minutes… I don’t want to be within 7 miles of that plane.
So as I am sitting in this seat plugging my nose, I suddenly realize how minuscule these seats have gotten since I last travelled. So I asked the Mister (seasoned traveler) if these seats seem excessively small to him and he (of course) tells me no. I feel like this seat was made for a Barbie Doll.
And then it hits me like a ton of bricks….my emotional empty nester eating binges are bringing me down that dreaded seat belt extender road…
Later, my fog of depression was lifted when the flight attendant announced due to our delay, free drinks and plenty of snacks for everyone! Seat belt extender? What seat belt extender? Smelly old lavatories?
This day has really turned out to be a lucky one after all! So when the flight attendant finally got to us in the very last row , I asked for a white wine and every goshdarn snack left in her cart. She told me there was no white wine left – just a few bottles of OJ and some sad looking packs of craisins. I could hardly control my rage. Meanwhile, the Mister shrugged and went back to sleep. Which made me even madder!
We arrived in Minneapolis with 18 minutes separating our landing time from our connection. Naturally, our gate was located 2 terminals away. We tried to escape quickly, passing our fellow passengers who drank all of my wine and ate all of my snacks.
Once we emerged from the plane, we ran like crazy towards our flight. Three things got in the way:
One was these:
another was these:
and last but not least….
Note to self: never ever wear sandals when travelling by plane. I felt like I was running a marathon in an ice rink with flippers on my feet. My chubby thighs were flapping and my newly-grown cankles were carrying me every step of the way!
Just as a side note… Minneapolis airport has to have the steepest escalators in the world. They should be one of the rides at Six Flags!! And as my close friends and family members can attest… I have a major fear of descending escalators. I’m “that woman” at the mall in the corner of the elevator, sheepishly looking at the floor, sans wheelchair or stroller.
So we have 3 minutes left – the Mister turns to me, takes all my bags, tells me I can take off my sandals if I need to but get on the &#*%$&*# escalator!!!
With sweaty palms and a beating heart … I did it!!!
We were the last ones on the plane, but we made did it! The Mister and I found our seats and were quickly approached by the flight attendant who questioned our seat assignment. When we presented our wrinkled, sweaty boarding passes she looked at the cute family standing in the flight attendant area and asked if one of us could switch seats with one of them so they could all sit together. I looked at the precious, crying baby in the Mom’s arms and volunteered. The dad thanked me and said to take his seat…. in first class.
My poor “hunk of burnin’ love” looked at me like I just hi-jacked the plane…
I looked back at a distance while climbing into my very spacious row in first class and could only see the Mister’s face and that sweet, sweet baby…
I don’t know who was crying harder …. the baby or the Mister!!
So as I sat in my humongous first class seat, I felt like my old, practically slender, just about 20 lbs to get skinny, self!