Sorry, It’s My Fault


There are few places I hate more than an airport. It’s so funny, because as a kid, they were fascinating places. An endless kaleidoscope of complexions and attitudes. Racks of books and magazines I’d never seen before, long aisles of tantalizing merchandise. Where did the wonder go?

 

Perhaps it took my flight. As an adult it is a nearly an unadulterated truth that I am the unluckiest passenger. I apologize here and now to everyone who is on my flight or any flight I will ever be on – your flight will be delayed, at least once. It’s doubtful your luggage will be lost, that’s only happened once.

 

This time, my excitement could hardly be less contained. My sister just had a baby! Kylie Reese is waiting in Dallas for me and I’m grounded in rainy Virginia.

 

I have decide that there is a conspiracy against travelers, me in particular. As I paced the terminal, the monotone reel of news played from the stores’ doorless openings. Guess what – my airline just declared bankruptcy! No wonder they want me to hang out here a little longer, surrounded by expensive, barely resistible frozen yogurt, colorful glass rings, gourmet coffee (though none of the stuff in this terminal is any good,) magazines I don’t need, gift shops (that have baby stuff for sale) and other              price-gouging necessities.

 

Alas, God has apparently been working on me since my last airport disaster. I have been known to call my mom or husband and rant words that I didn’t even know were in my vocabulary. This time, I merely left my mom a message of resignation, spent $20 on crap and sat down to tell you my woes.

 

Thanks for listening.

3 thoughts on “Sorry, It’s My Fault

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