Proof of Rejection

     As it goes with most good things in life, our vacation's end caught up with us too quickly. Not only did our friends have to return to work, but with our real life responsibilities soon to follow, we packed the bags smarter than before and set forth to the airport entirely too early. Patrick was a paranoid maniac with a one track mind that morning. His mission: making our trip home as boring as possible.
     I convinced him with my sweetest-most-pathetic-wife-in-the-world-face-if-I-don't-eat-NOW-I-will-disintegrate-into-bone-dust-and-blow-away-look to stop for breakfast in Culver City on the way to LAX. Pinche's Tacos, an charmingly hot pink building with a 4 of 5 star rating by consumers on my locater APP. He ordered the smallest taco ever known to man-kind, and then proceeded to pace the building with his eyes while waiting for the food to arrive to our table. He refused to take more than a single bite of the chips and salsa I ordered (a Texan sin), quickly ate his tiny taco, mentally paced the building some more while I slowly chewed my breakfast, and said little more than these six words through the entire process, "I just want to get there." Ugh, what a worry warted bump on a log.

     We still had 1.5 hours until take off after completely checking our luggage and breezing through security, and I even got to keep my liter of Whipped Vodka I had purchased, which I thought I might have to toss out if our bag was over the weight limit. Better to throw away $20 of liquor than to spend $100 in overweight luggage! I decided to get a Starbucks coffee to celebrate, only wishing I actually had my sweet whip creme vodka within grasp to spike it. Maybe that would spice things up. Patrick accompanied me this time, not as quick to let me out of his site after our last departing incident, and finally started to relax enough to order himself a treat as well.

     As soon as the plane started hovering into Texas territory, a tickle formed in my sinus', followed by sneezing fits, accompanied with annoying dribbles from my nose. "What the deuce?" as Stewy from Family Guy would say. My body was rejecting the transition. This continued for roughly the next three hours, as I was further welcomed back home by the immediate onset of sweating as soon as we stepped foot outside.   

     Awesome. I guess it's back to the real world; whatever that means.



I felt like a rich woman as my husband carried all the luggage in (may I should tip him). I even had a fan waiting at the door to greet me (Lucie).

 
P.S. Speaking of bodily rejections, I have these weird bug-bite like whelps that have come out of no where the last couple days at work; a few more in different places each day. Each elbow, right wrist and forearm, and left knee . . . . . now my side is starting to itch too. I'm about 99% positive it's hives. I feeling like screaming from frustration so loudly, people on other continents may be able to hear me. But first, I guess I'll take a Benedryl, go to sleep, and see how I feel this afternoon.