It Could Always be Worse
Welcome 2013 Ultimate Blog Party! Grab a glass of vino and come have a laugh with me. Or at me, as the case may be…:) Home from vacation. Boo. When it comes to flying, I am a count-your-blessings kind of gal. What I mean is, any flight that lands safely is a pretty good flight. What happens on board is often less than delightful, but it could always be worse. There was the flight when I was pregnant and stuck next to a man who was drinking heavily and wouldn’t stop touching my belly while telling me stories of his near-death experiences. There was the flight when I checked all my baggage and therefore had no change of clothes, and my daughter dumped her sprite in my lap. Not on my leg, not on my knees, but you know where, and we had a connecting flight. Yay, embarrassing and uncomfortable. The story of my life, really.
This trip home was, to say the lease, grueling. We arrived in Tampa expecting the briefest of layovers before our connecting flight home to Philadelphia. The brief layover turned into a three-hour delay. Three hours, with a seven-year-old. Thank you gods of technology, because we plugged her in. She watched movies and stayed happy. The grown ups? Not so much. Hubby was patient. I can’t leave that alone and appreciate it, so I felt the need to remind him that it could always be worse. He looked at me skeptically. A moment later I reached into my purse and said “oh $%#&! Where are the car keys? Didn’t you put them in my bag like I asked you to?” He went pale, and started yammering on about how I never asked him to do that, and why would I take them out of my bag, we’ll never get home from the airport! I smiled sweetly. “See? It could be worse!” He seemed a bit miffed.
When our plane finally took off it was jam packed. There’s the same amount of space regardless of how many seats are filled, but it feels smaller and more cramped when every seat is filled, and someone seated nearby has tummy trouble. And what I mean by that is, someone sitting very close to us was having severe tummy trouble, and there was no escape. What is one to do, in this situation? You can’t exactly open a window, on a plane, or discreetly move away from the fumes. Sir, airport food does not agree with you! And it didn’t stop. Every new onslaught prompted my daughter to yelp rather loudly “oh MAN. Who cut the cheese?” I eyed the overhead containing the oxygen masks. Surely this was a good time for them? Maybe I could pry it open while the flight attendents were in their seats, due to the terrible turbulence we were also experiencing.
The flight landed safely, though. That’s what’s important. And our vacation was lovely, despite a blistering sunburn we all got on our first day. My daughter was old enough for her own bike, this year, rather than one of us having to maneuver the bike with the attached tagalong (which is awkward and heavy and we fell down a lot), and my daughter prefers the company of my mother, in Key West, so hubby and I were able to get out on the town for some night life. And now we’re home. It’s hard to go from bougainvilla and warm, salty breezes to the cold and the litter, but we do what we must. And it could always be worse. Tell me, what was your worst travel experience EVER? Please share.