Do I have to pay extra for my emotional baggage?
In the opening scene of Love Actually, Hugh Grant says “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think of the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. It seems to me that love is…everywhere.” Cue pictures of tender loving smiles and warm embraces. Obviously Hugh has never traveled with me.
The prep work leading up to a trip almost kills me. A pedicure removes leftover paint chips from six months ago. The esthetician has her hands full waxing my sasquatch for tropical vacations. A new outfit is required before boarding the plane for a ladies shopping trip. There’s the sudden frenzied need to clean my house. By the time I’m ready to leave, I’m completely exhausted.
My anxiety level jumps sky high on travel days. I check for my passport a billion times before leaving the house, and a dozen more times on the way to the airport. I had my mug shot, ummm, I mean my passport photo taken after hot yoga. I look more depraved than an actual terrorist.
I regularly get felt-up and patted-down at security. Pretty cheeky considering I’m used to dinner and a bottle first. I nervously wait for my bag to get scanned and swabbed, even though I’m pretty sure it’s clean. Taking off my shoes makes me wish I had cootie booties. It’s a shit show trying to piece together my shoes, belt, jewelry, and liquids before the next bin comes barreling down the conveyor belt.
I’m a habitual over-packer who always feels like I’ve forgotten something. I hold my breath while they weigh my luggage, and breathe a sigh of relief when the scale tops out at 49 lbs. My noise cancelling headphones drowns out crying babies, and creepy seatmates who like to share my armrest. The bitch in front of me feels the need to recline her chair, leaving my tits on the tray table.
The movies made air travel look so glamorous. Back then people dressed up to fly, as opposed to the current trend of pajama pants in public. The I’ve given up on life pants. In those days, the first class/iron curtain separated the cattle from the herd, making coach udderly dismal. Looking back, even with the funky colored mystery meat and tasteless desserts, we were lucky to be fed at all.
Alcohol hits you hard and fast at 35,000 feet, particularly in the early A.M. I’ve learned the hard way that diarrhea and hangovers have no place on an airplane. Back when I was a social smoker, only one row separated the smoking section from non-smoking. The foul smell of my Du Maurier lights would infiltrate the entire cabin. The combination of Bic lighters, oxygen masks, and cabin pressure added to my fear of flying. Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines…
Sangria Wine Rack
parka, coat, rainwear
top, shirt, blouse, tank top
sweats, lounging outfit
bra, sports bra
bathing suit, cover-up
tote purse, small cross body bag
knit hat, mitts, gloves
dressy shoes, walking shoes
sandals, flip flops
toothbrush, paste, floss
headband, elastics, clips, bobby pins
plastic ziplock bags
tweezers, nail clippers
cell phone, charger
computer, iPad, chargers
book, magazine, e-reader
driver’s license, health care insurance
ATM card, cash
Tunes you should have on your iPod:
Rihanna and Nicki Minaj ✦ Fly
Elton John ✺ Bennie And The Jets
Chantal Kreviazuk ✤ Leaving On A Jet Plane
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