So… this particular Adventure de Wellman did not exactly get off to a glowing start.
I’m kind of a planning type person, especially when it comes to trips. I like my trains, planes, and automobiles to run on time. I also don’t like to put anyone out- and both of those things equaled up to me ordering an Uber for 4.30am. Our flight was at 6.40, and in Albuquerque on Sundays, security doesn’t open til 5. It’ll all good, I tell myself, we’ll get in right at opening, plenty of time for a nice, relaxed mimosa type breakfast.
And hey, ok, even if the mimosa breakfast place won’t serve, I paid for the complimentary booze seats on the plane. We’re in great shape here.
That is- until Mr. Uber Driver decides to kind of not bother to show up til 4.50.
Maybe I’m a completely unreasonable cow bitch, but in my book, if you’re a driver and you have a pick up to the mfin airport and you’re twenty gd minutes late, the first thing I wanna hear out of your late late McLaterson’s mouth is a gd apology.
No apology. Not even an acknowledgement that we weren’t exactly on schedule. However, my clipped, short responses did manage to do one thing I’ve never been able to do before.
I got an Uber driver to STFU. Not even kidding, it was like magic.
We get to the airport and get through security fairly reasonably (except for hearing a TSA agent scream at some poor lady cause she gave her daughter her purse to hold while she put her shoes on or something) and went and found a breakfast burrito.
Except Rick, that cad, fixed his ever roving eye on a little cutie and just haaaaaad to chat her up.
The little hottie in question, who did in fact, turn out to be a boy puppy.
Being the ever patient wifey that I am, I turned a blind eye to his dalliance and picked up our breakfast. The things I do for that man, I swear.
We made the plane on time, and the second snag in my perfectly laid plans snagged.
No sparkling wine on the flight. No mimosas for me.
Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. We had an hour in DFW, surely I can find a mimosa there.
Big old negatory ghost rider. I didn’t account for the time change, so we didn’t have an hour. Throw in a gate change, and we didn’t have time to pause. Throw in that flight #2 did NOT come with the spiffy seats with free booze, and I sighed and said, you know what, it’s okay. It’s fine, it’s not that long a flight, by 4pm I’ll be having a pina coloda in the chaise lounge by the pool. No problem.
I popped my uber mcspiffy fu random strangers, I am not feeling conversational today headphones on. They were touted as noise cancelling pieces of magic that would transport me into another dimesion.
Well, they work. I didn’t hear a single one of the announcements about weather turbulence. It’s okay though, I felt it juuuuuuuuust fine in my perfectly sober headspace. Lucky me, now I know exactly how much I hate turbulence without all that nice cushioning chardonnay clouding me.
Cue the plane diverting to Fort Myers. Where we sat on the tarmac for about an hour and a half, I think. I kept my headphones on and hung out with Simon and Garfunkle, Gordon Lightfoot, James Taylor, and Nirvana rather than listen to my fellow passengers bitch and moan. I was doing enough of that in my own head.
Finally, we hit dirt in the right Floridian city, got checked into our space, got to sit and eat dinner watching… what else? Star Wars. And as soon as my grocery order gets here, I will be ajourning to the jacuzzi tub in my bedroom. I may or may not have perched on the edge of it for a few moments and told it how much I missed it and how it’s really been too long and we shouldn’t let so much time pass between visits.
And watch Game of Thrones, of course!
Side note- Rick, perhaps out of guilt for his dalliance or because he really feels bad for the fact that my two huge bottles of Woodbridge Chardonnay showed up warm, has fetched me a pina coloda from the bar.
He’s a keeper.
Curiouser and Curiouser 