I’m furiously HANGRY right now on a flight to LAX. I have no idea why hunger makes me so murderous.
And they ran out of sandwiches. Not ideal. (Of course this is on a US-based airline).
My two-year-old has been speaking at a super loud volume (poor little ears) which is annoying but what is really grating on my nerves is that she keeps referring to me as “My Mommy,” cute at first but after the 565th time if the passengers around me don’t want to strangle her they will probably come after me.
“Look at this My Mommy, do you see it My Mommy? My Mommy, I want to play something else.” (Someone send food so I don’t punch myself in the face).
Today went better than expected so I can’t complain. Even my classic itinerary stuff-up wasn’t so bad. I’ve been known to show up at the airport on the wrong dates and times. I’ve missed flights. I’m not proud. I’m just more of a big-picture thinker rather than a ‘detail oriented’ one.
I had an old itinerary print out (before I changed our flight dates) which showed our flight leaving earlier than the actual one did. No harm there but it showed we were in the wrong terminal so we had to drag my five suitcases, carry-on bags and toddler on a train and seventeen elevators before we were in the correct place. My Mom and Stepdad were with me to help out, It could totally have been worse.
The highlight of checking-in (if there can be such a thing) was that two of my four bags were exactly fifty pounds. On. The. Dot. The exact weight limit. Why is this such a big deal? (Not sure if this is amazing or tragic so let’s just go with amazing) because I don’t use a scale, I judge the weight of my luggage strictly by feel. Boom.