Yesterday was the start of a four day weekend with my girls. We had massages and facials scheduled an hour after our flight arrived, so MyFace suggested (instructed, actually) I only bring a carryon. I agreed (knowing I would check a bag, I have to, I’m Medallion status) and asked what she was packing. Her reply, “swimsuit, shorts, dress, couple tops, maybe underwear.” Perfect.
I picked up That’s Not Chinese and made sure to have Do-Wacka-Do on repeat – early mornings aren’t her thing, “Double digits girl, I go to bed when they hit and don’t wake up until they hit again.” We met up with Q and made our way to meet MyFace at the airport. As we approached (translation, half a mile away) the gate, MyFace spotted us and shouted, “You checked your bags! I knew it! I told you carryon only, I can’t believe you. Actually, I can.”
We managed to board, fly and deplane without incident. This is a major accomplishment. Last time we flew, with Fru Fru Pants, we got an “I never!” This was followed up with a lecture about how loud we were on the plane, she (the person in 21B now known as “I never”) now knows everything about us and, she never!
MyFace hooked us up with plush lodging at a country club, a country club with age restrictions: 55 and older, no kids. Luckily we all had fake IDs. Speaking of IDs, a few people had concerns about me coming here, due to the new immigration law and all. I advised them I was looking forward to it, I’ve been wanting to trace my ancestry (which isn’t saying I don’t trust the Greek women at the coffee shop who told me I’m Greek) and, if I get deported, I’ll know all roads lead to Mexico for me. If I do get deported, I hope I can check my bag. If not, I’ll just take a carryon, with underwear, maybe.