The alarm goes off at 6:30am. I hit snooze. I must be up by 7:00 in order to make it to the airport. At 7:30 I open my eyes and then sit straight up in panic. Shit. I didn't hit snooze; I turned the alarm off. I frantically run around shoving things into my suitcase. I manage to put on a bra but no makeup. I quickly shower but there is no time to do anything with my hair other than put it in a low librarian bun, the kind I favor when I am in need of a haircut but not desperate enough to actually make an appointment. I refuse to look at the clock as the cab inches through city traffic. By some miracle I make it to the airport in time.
I wait for 25 minutes in line for coffee, feeling vaguely threatened by the constant announcements that it is my last chance to get on the plane. I contemplate the possibility that I have rushed to the airport only to prioritize coffee ahead of an actual plane ride.
I drink all the coffee and curse the seatbelt sign. When it is ok to get up and move about the cabin, I hightail it to the bathroom. A quick look in the mirror confirms that without makeup and with my hair back I look exactly like my brother. Who is, as you may have guessed, a boy, and therefore not someone I strive to be mistaken for. I vow not to look in the mirror for the rest of the flight.
I read one entire book on my Kindle and then watch Sunshine Cleaning. It's a long flight to LA. But I never said it was an interesting one.
Jack is TWO!
2 years ago