My flowy pants

(Stage: Gainesville Airport)

So, when the guy on the other end of the line told me I could check in 30 minutes before the flight left, I thought that is when they OPENED check in.

Wrong.

That is when they CLOSE it. What he should have told me was "You HAVE to check in at least 30 minutes before departure -- or you will miss your flight."

Are you kidding me?

No. He was not. And he being rather stoic about it. Which annoyed me. (As my 3-year-old tied me to this pole thing.) He also, at the time, told me he'd be charging me a $50 fee for something.

OK. So, let me explain that. I am wearing my favorite pants in the world. These are the pants I wear around the house, when I travel and when I make a random weekend trip to Publix. Ahhh, I love them. They have this tie that cinches around the waist. It kind of hangs down from the waist. I call them my flowy pants.

So, my 3-year-old takes the tie and ties me to this pole thing. Yes, I think that is the technical term. Pole thing.

So, you know, I turn to him and say "Why. Why must you tie me to the pole?" (You know, as I am glaring at the check-in guy who is talking about me owing him $50.)

Um, and then I realized how that sounded. But whatever. Dude was telling me that I mis-understood other dude on the end of the 800 line. So, I wasn't happy.

Look, do what you gotta do. Tie me to the airplane if you have to. I'm wearing my flowy pants. We can make it work. That last thing I wanted to hear is that I would miss my flight.

((I'll check back in from ATL))

Hot and heavy

Today, sitting in the middle of my desk (my swamp), I looked around and felt a bit suffocated. Too many papers, too many pictures, too many needless memos. Just too much.

And so, I found a box and filled it. I had so much needless stuff cluttering the swamp. I filled it to the brim with all kinds of goodies--family pictures, a box of Grape Nuts (lol), dishes. Yes, all of that ... just, stuff that I have compiled over the months.

I chose to keep a few of my favorite family pictures up and with heavy box in hand (and in heels), I lugged the box down three flights of stairs. Carefully. And out to the back of the mom van.

By the time I got back inside, I was sweating and breathing heavily. That was hard. And it is so hot, I thought as I climbed back up those three flights of stairs.

My co-worker saw me, or heard me, walk by her. I sighed. You know, one of those "that was exhausting" sighs.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Hot," I said. "and heavy." "Hot and heavy."

"Huh?"

I walked away and moments later thought twice about what I just said to her. And you know, how I said it. Oh, that's nice. Really nice. There I am panting the words to her "Hot and heavy."

You know what I meant: Hot sun. Heavy box. But, I thought it was funny enough to leave it alone. My little laugh for the day.