Things go amiss at 30,000 feet

Ava and I had to go to Albuquerque again. It’s not that we don’t think Albuquerque is simply a charming place, because we do. We’re certain we’d love it if we weren’t there for work. There is much to recommend the town from it’s 300 year old restaurants and general quaintness to it’s friendly inhabitants. Also, my uncle, Newmexiken.com, lives there. However, when we go there for work it’s generally horrible. Long hours and unhappy clients do not make for a pleasant stay.

We left Kelli at home to hold down the fort. Instead she went to one of our favorite restaurants and teased us about it. Not very nice, eh? We’ll figure out a suitable punishment later. This will take some thought.

Ava and I were to be there from Wednesday until Sunday morning – twelve hours a day. It was dreadful. The only redeeming feature was the beds in the hotel which I swear to Zeus were blessed by fairies or something.

Then on Thursday, My Honey called to say that his favorite aunt died. She was quite elderly but she and her husband were very independent. They’d just sold their three story house on Table Lake a couple of years ago to downsize to a smaller, single story one.  Nevertheless, she passed and My Honey and his family were going to the funeral so I had to come home early. I would fly home late Friday night and we’d turn right around and get him to the airport super early Saturday morning. He’s out of town until Wednesday. That’s means I’m home alone with the children. I live in fear. More on that in the coming days.

This meant I had to fly home alone. Sigh. I got to the airport and through security without much difficulty, got myself some dinner and sat down at the gate so that the most people possible could annoy me. God almighty, the most annoying people on the planet converge in airports. I made a concerted effort not to glare at people. You never know who is going to be your seat mate.

Yeah, speaking of seat mates. That did not go well. It was a surprisingly full flight and I was sandwiched in the middle seat. On one side sat a very nice, very young man. I believe he was of Indian or Middle Eastern decent. I am remarkably bad at pegging where people are from. I do know that he had gorgeous skin, a beautiful latte color, and well formed hands. He was also unfailingly polite and quiet. I thought all would be well, but it turned out the older lady on my other side had other plans. Where Young Man and I clearly planned to read quietly to pass the time, she intended to rant.

You’ve all met this woman – she’s Angry Republican Woman. You can tell her on sight because she has a helmet full of hair, sprayed within an inch of its life, and a solid color skirt suit and reasonable, black, one-inch heels.

While we sat there, a captive audience for one hour, she told us how frustrated she was with how the primaries are going. Apparently she was a Santorum-ite which right away proved she was crazy. If not crazy, at least I knew that regardless of any other faults, her belief in Santorum meant she and I would NEVER see eye to eye on any issue. Ever.

I refused to engage in conversation with her. Unlike Ava, I am completely unable to have a civil conversation about politics. Ava can feed these crazy people a line and gleefully lead them along. If I engaged with this woman the federal marshal would have had to escort me off the plane. I know this about myself so I made a concerted effort to ignore her. Young Man fidgeted painfully. It was awful. At one point, I thought she might make him cry.

The row behind us had two guys trying to one-up each other with terrifying flight stories. That’s super calming when you’re already thinking of jumping.

The stewardess was mean.

None of this beats My Honey’s text from the first leg of his flight to Missouri.

“Just landed in Denver. Some guy two seats behind me won’t wake up so now we have to wait for the EMTs to get his ass off the plane. I better not miss my breakfast. That sounds bad but I’m hungry.”

That seems like a bad omen when you’re flying across the country to go to a funeral, huh? Turns out,

“He wasn’t dead, just high as a kite.”

Or as an airplane.