Apt comparisons

The wife is currently en route to Atlanta to visit her sister and mother to take part in my sister-in-law's wedding pre-season (ie, shopping for dresses and doing other sorts of wedding planning stuff).

The little lady, bless her heart, selected the most inexpensive flight leaving today from Pittsburgh for Atlanta. It left at 6:45 am. Which meant she had to be at the airport at 4:45 am. Which meant we had to leave the house at 4:00 am. Which mean we had to get up at 3:00 am. THREE O' CLOCK AM. Which is basically the middle of the night.

The cloud's silver lining came, however, when I received the following brief text message from the wife just after she had boarded her plane (I added the punctuation and capitalization--those are tricky to do in text messages). This single sentence made waking up at 3 am worth it.

One guy got on [the plane and] said, "This is like a Greyhound bus on wheels."

Like the one in this picture?

It reminds me of a family friend, who, after arriving in the quaint Midwestern city of Chicago, Illinois (which is little more than a suburb of Indianapolis, really) remarked, "This city is almost as great as Columbus, Ohio!" Soon after making this comment, unfortunately, this friend, apparently unfamiliar with the operating protocols for revolving doors, became trapped in the circular entrance for one of the many stores along the Magnificent Mile. As if Chicago, recognizing and scorning its own inferiority to Columbus, Ohio, felt the need to exact petty revenge on the soul who dared speak such hurtful things.



If it meant reliably getting comments like these, I would gladly wake up at 3am every day (and then I would probably go back to sleep).

___________________________

Note added in proof: as I'm about to click "publish post", I just received another text message from the little lady. This is what it said (again, punctuation and capitalization contributed by me):

I made it. I love you.

This message is even better than the first.

Eat n' fly

Blogging live from Pittsburgh International Airport... I am seriously regretting my most recent action.

Directly across from the gate of my departing flight is the deliciously tempting Wok & Roll. I had finished my (rather large) lunch not three hours ago and to the moment of my fateful decision nary a hunger pang had been felt. The aroma and the sizzle of chicken frying on the stove drew me in.

My head said that I was not hungry. My heart said otherwise. Like my brother involuntarily purchasing the exorbitant gym membership from the comely young saleslady, I heard my voice placing an order for General Tso’s chicken with spicy rice noodles and watched as my hand extended a credit card to the lady behind the counter. It was an out-of-body experience: I had no control over myself.

I carried my fresh chicken to the table, sat down, and opened the styrofoam container. I was not hungry, yet the hand which had involuntarily volunteered my credit card was now shoveling forkfuls of chicken n’ noodles into my mouth. “No, no, no,” I tried to will my hand back to the table. It would have none of it.

By the time I had consumed nearly 2/3 of my unnecessary dinner, I felt ill. Finally my hands obeyed my mind and, reluctantly, closed the chicken and carried it to the trash can where it, with great resistance, dropped the remains of the meal.

I am now sitting at the gate, feeling overstuffed and sorry for myself... and sweating General Tso’s sauce.

My plane boards imminently. Wish me luck.