I have a very clever and insightful friend who offered me this theory many years ago: if someone were to shove a red hot poker ten inches up your backside, and then pulled it back out three inches, you would thank them for relieving thirty percent of your pain.
On every leg of my trip this week, I was randomly selected to go through the pre-check security lines. (I did this three times, for reasons I explained yesterday.) It felt so grown up and civilized, being trusted to leave my shoes on and my ipad in my x-rayable travel bag. But for every entry to the good old-fashioned metal detector, I had my palms swiped with a pad that was run through the mass spectrometer (or whatever) to make sure I remember to wash my glycerin-based moisturizer off my hands after I put on my makeup. Long ago I tired of getting the pat-down because I wore jeans that had shiny stitching or plastic rhinestones on the pockets, so I switched to wearing only outfits based on yoga pants or stretchy dresses and sports bras with no underwires. And yet, it still isn't enough. At the Atlanta airport, I set off the detectors, and they sent me through the newer scanner, which apparently thought I had too much ink on the label stamp on the back side of my underwear, so the girl had to pat me on the bottom. I'm not sure whether that's worse than having my right shoulderblade set it off, like it did eight times in a row, when I had on nothing more than cotton and lycra, on any one of those days. It was nice going through a line where it didn't smell of feet, but is that really just the poker coming out three measly inches?
My flight was oversold today, and I volunteered to sit at the electronics charger for an hour to wait for the next one, but there were just enough no-shows that I got on the plane. I missed my one shot at a voucher that would have paid for this fall's football trip. I was so excited that I finally could take that gamble, and have a nice little payout of $300 off my next ticket, and I was very disappointed to be told I could just go home. The up side to all my shuffling and rebooking over the last two days was the only seat left was in the economy comfort section, at no additional charge. I have to decide how I felt about it, whether it's worth paying the upcharge in the future. Lots of legroom, but sitting directly behind the first class cabin, the tray tables were tucked under the arms on either side of my seat. Not a lot of room for me to spread out, as it were. Maybe if I hold off on dessert a few times, it would be a perfect fit.
All the kids were glad to have me home. I have had plenty of attention since the moment I brought the dogs to the car from camp. My plants, on the other hand, show signs of an odd mix of neglect and trespass. It was very hot today, and no rain in my tiny tract of land, so my plants were a little droopy, and several of them look like they were slept in by rabbit-sized creatures. No sign of nibbling or theft of fruits and vegetables, but a lot of broken stems. Someone's been sleeping in my bed... of ferns...
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