First Class Mistake

When last I left you, I was not going to be a sky pirate captain because my husband is a quitter—a died-in-the-wool giver-upper who never supports my dreams.

Angelina Jolie (Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow) in her black uniform and eyepatch, on the deck of her skyship, against a background of clouds and skyscrapers

I’d have had a better hat, though.

I am, as it happens, still not a sky pirate captain.
I am, however, a person who has literally paid for a hotel by the hour, (though I’m sure the good people at Ramada don’t advertise this service) upgraded herself out of the best flight ever, and—because I love you—snapped a photo of the most mockable woman in all of Georgia.
Here’s what happened:

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Delta Ruins EVERYTHING

 

Here is how fucked up and disorganized I am:

screenshot from previous blog post with sentence circled in pink: "In the meantime, we're off to visit Offspring for a quick weekend, as he's graduating from AIT.

 

I wrote that Monday night and published it on Tuesday.  My actual flight was Tuesday afternoon.

 

Cut to me frantically throwing whatever’s reasonably clean into a carryon, because I have a feeling about this trip and I do not want to check any bags.

Text: "Foreshadowing" (white on grey background)

 

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His Fluffer

 

As I mentioned last week, my friend’s epic birthday party gave us an excuse for a mini road trip. 

 

I know some people avoid long drives, but our relationship more or less began in the car—that sounded dirty, but I swear only everything else I say is—and so for us a long drive is like a repeat of that first date.

 

Which is why I’m not going to tell you about Audrey’s party—you’ll get nothing from me on the beautiful food (tapas, because she’s adulting on a whole ‘nother level) or how drunk I got or the demonstrations from an even drunker ER nurse that had us all laughing until someone spilled red wine (which was weird, because we were all drinking vodka.)

 

Instead, I want to share yet another of our car convos, because I feel we are at our most us when we’re trapped in a car all day. 

 

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We’re Bad In Restaurants

 

As many of you have noted, my husband and I have a great rapport, and are able to strike up a meaningful, loving, or silly conversation (my favorites combine all three) with little to no provocation. 

 

I love to talk, he loves to make me laugh: it’s a recipe for nonstop chatter and it’s no wonder that we are, conversationally, so good together. 

 awwww

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