Airplane bathrooms baffle me. You get one square foot of space, but they include a full length mirror. Why thank you, I did need to see a full view of myself standing three inches away. Yep, just as I suspected, travel worn and weary, that was just the look I was going for! I cause scenes in airports. I liken it to having a toddler at the DMV. All my normal social standards just go out the window. I try, I really do. I always go in thinking I’ll try to be normal this time. But, it never works. I stand in line, everything is going well, then our baggage is too heavy, hidden fees ensue and all the sudden, I’m sitting on the floor, shuffling dirty clothes from one bag to another, trying to balance weights among bags, muttering angrily to myself, with about a hundred sets of Asian eyes all on me. And, after that, it’s all over. I guess I figure once I’ve literally aired my dirty laundry to everyone around me, there’s no turning back and I can throw whatever kind of temper tantrum I need to at that point.
My frustration gets me nowhere though, and after an hour at the check-in desk and being ushered into a back room to dig through my checked bag to show them my hairspray (for reasons that didn’t translate), I still find myself running through the airport, with a now 25 lb bag on my back and dragging a 35 lb bag behind me. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an elephant run, but I have and I know they look more graceful than I did. We made it onto the flight though and God shined a little light down on me in my distress: the seat next to me is open, allowing for some much needed room to breathe. Next stop: Cambodia!