O'Hare O' Hair

It's no secret that I hate to fly. I get so frazzled and it shows inside and out. On Saturday, the kids and I left Boston around noon. We landed in Chicago late and had to rush to get to our connecting flight. Well, at least I thought we had to rush. We get to our gate and people are milling about without a care in the world. No rush, no hurry, no worries. Our plane was delayed (of course) so the kids and I started to wander about-- we decided to hit Starbucks for a bottle of water (yes I admit it! I bought a bottle of water when I know that's not the best thing for our planet, but a girl has to wet her whistle). By the time we left Starbucks and headed back to our gate, I was starting to feel relaxed, after all we would be home in just a few more hours. When suddenly I saw a familiar face. Yes, right there in the airport was the mom of a student at my school. She was returning from a trip to Minnesota, (or Missouri, or maybe it was Oklahoma) and would be on our flight to Seattle.

I went over to greet her. She was standing tall with that perfect posture that only a woman over 5'7 could pull off. She reminded me of an Old New Englander, a Kennedy or a Hepburn-you know squared shoulders, chin up, looking serious and elegant. She wore a black sweater set and jeans not-likely-purchased at Old Navy. She had a dainty, but sophisticated looking carry-on bag with wheels. In contrast I stood across from her with my neck craned, trying to pull off some semblance of savvy traveler. I pretended I wasn't in an oversized Martha's Vineyard T-shirt, with a ketchup stain strategically placed over my left breast. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected, of course, that during our conversation Max dropped his Buzz Lightyear suitcase on my toe at least four times. My Mickey & Minnie bag from the Disney Store kept slipping off of my left arm where it was hooked cleverly to allow room for my purse and my 45 pound backpack. The Mickey Mouse bag was teeming with "stuffies" because, as everyone knows you must:
a. pack half of your stuffed animals for a week long trip to see the grandparents,
b. look longingly at at least 3 more stuffed animals in your grandmother's presence so she will buy you more--then she will buy you a cute Mickey Mouse bag to hold your new stuffed friends.
c. always carry your stuffies onto the plane. Cargo is no place for your stuffed animals. You can't put them in your suitcase--how will they breathe??


Just looking at how put together and calm this woman was made my hair frizz. Okay, my hair was already frizzing. Not to mention that my choice to stuff it all in a ponytail backfired. My fear of flying set off some sort of chemical endorphin reaction which produced an interesting sweat/frizz combo. Or perhaps the sweat was because I was carrying a backpack that weighed half my body weight! Whatever the reason, the ponytail just called attention to the fact that I looked like a cross between Willie Ames and Sideshow Bob.

Still, all in all, I held my own during our short conversation. I am fairly confident I sounded more put together than I looked. When we were done talking I smiled (after all I do like this woman), and headed to the back of the line of boarding passengers. I'd like to think that she wasn't looking my way when somehow my purse got tangled between the backpack strap and the Mickey Mouse bag, wrapped around my back and gently slapped me in the booty as I sauntered away.