Morgenmuffel
I gazed fondly at my Prince Charming over the flickering golden glow of the candle. It was our one-month wedding anniversary and he was treating me to an intimate dinner at “our” restaurant. What a whirlwind romance it had been!
“Yes, Darling, what were you saying?” I swirled the ruby liquid in its crystal glass. I guess I better not let myself get swept away in my real-life fantasies, I mused.
“Do I want to jet away to the Bahamas tomorrow? …an impromptu celebration?” My new husband’s gorgeous brown eyes twinkled at me. “It’s a surprise,” he said. That adorable dimple developed in his left cheek as his smile grew.
My heart, if possible, melted just a little bit more. “Absolutely,” I replied. What a catch!
“We’ll be leaving LAX tomorrow at 8:00,” he continued. “I hope that’s OK.”
“Bahamas? I’ve never been there.” I could hardly think of anything else. Tropical Beach? Sign me up!
“We’ll need to leave the house at …”
But I was already wondering if I needed a new bikini.
***
La la la tra la. The musical tinkling of the alarm punctured my sleep at pitch black o’clock. WaaaH!! That innocuous sound couldn’t fool me! This mid-slumber disruption was not in my wheelhouse!
“C’mon, dear. The Bahamas are calling.” Perfect husband appeared in my blurry vision already shaved, showered, and dressed. What the? That smile didn’t sleep?
Like an automatron, I sat up in bed. In synchrony, so did my hair upon my head.
“Hurry, dear, we need to leave the house in thirty minutes.”
If I had been able to think straight, I would have murdered him with my death glare. But it was far too early for such strenuous calisthenics. I ran the toothbrush over my morning-mouth teeth (was mine the red or the blue toothbrush?) climbed into the outfit I had set aside last night, (wondering how that tag ended up poking me in the throat,) and shoved a hat over my disheveled hair. Did I have my ID for the plane? The boarding pass? The snacks I had conscientiously packed? Yep, yep, and yep.
“Good to go,” I mumbled.
Thirty minutes later, as we parked the car, I tucked the bar-coded parking receipt into my purse. Ten minutes after that, as we were checking in, a small part of my brain woke up. “Um Darling? I left my phone at home.”
“What?!” Darling exclaimed. “How will you get by?! Well, too late to go retrieve it now.” He continued checking our bags in. As a reaction to my muddled mind, I was compelled to clear my purse of all the extraneous grocery lists, used tissues, and expired coupons. I dumped them in the large airport trash can. Whew, that’s a little better, I mused. Unnoticed, the parking receipt fluttered into the bin with the rest of the dreck.
We hurried through Security. I made sure to pick up my car keys out of the doggie bowl TSA provides for random objects like that and carefully stowed them into one of my jacket’s six pockets. We sat and waited for our flight to board while eating the tortilla cream cheese wraps I had crafted last night. We’re getting there. I was still smarting about the forgotten cell phone but at least we were in the right place.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re sorry to announce that this flight will be delayed by two hours due to an issue with the jet stream…”
Hubby and I turned distraught eyes upon each other. He jumped up to go attempt to make changes in our flight itinerary.
Thirty minutes later we watched our original flight begin boarding while we waited for our rescheduled flight. Again, we turned our suffering eyes upon each other. Oh well.
***
At last! On the plane-squeezed, of course, between two strangers. Darling Husband is three rows back. That’s what comes from last minute rescheduling.
I had packed so carefully! But I realize my personal seat allotment is more like a vacuum cleaner shoved into the middle of an already over-stuffed coset. I begin to pull my diversionary materials out of the backpack with the five zippered compartments. I know where the laptop is. I extract it and place it on top of the jacket and sweater on my knees. This seems inconvenient so I move it to the tray table. I fish out two crossword magazines and place them on top of the laptop and then turn the whole pile by 90 degrees, hoping to miraculously create a smidge more space. I wonder into which hidey-hole I had tucked my red pen. Bent over jackets and twisting around the tray table I grope through the backpack which is keeping my storage scheme a mystery. Aha! There’s the pen. I eye it with mild trepidation. It seems like last time…
Gotcha! Red ink blurts out of the pen coating my hands like blood. Uh-huh, that‘s what happened last time. This pen’s plumbing is no match for the changing air pressure at thirty-thousand feet. I use the hand sanitizer wipe helpfully offered by the flight attendant as we boarded to clean up the ink carnage on my erstwhile pen and try to remove the evidence from my fingers and palms.
I set to work the nearly dead pen on the crossword until it totally gives out, crossword 90% done. OK, now what shall I do?
I carefully remove the iPad from zippered pocket #1 (or would that be #5) and attempt to open the Kindle book I had purchased yesterday to pleasantly pass the interminable hours on the plane. Am I doing this wrong? Where’s the kindle book? Nada, no luck, ingenting. Ok, so much for that; what else can I read on this thing?
The flight attendant comes by offering beverage service. I perk up. “Could I please have a decaf coffee?” I implore him.
“It’s just instant,” he replies with some chagrin.
“That’s fine.” I’m aware that’s the way it usually is for us decaf folks. Ten minutes later he shuffles back with a creamy mixture. I take a sip with anticipation. Cool! No, COLD! This stuff has been brewed with cold tap water! Not my fault but certainly par for today’s course.
I glance back at Hubbs, perhaps seeking some long-distance sympathy. I get a little tremor of apprehension seeing his exquisitely cute seatmate chatting him up. How dare he give her his winsome smile?! My smile! Now that I’ve finally woken up, why is my day turning out like this?
***
The soft black tropical night envelopes us as we chink our glasses together. We’re finally here! Between the soothing sounds of gentle waves and the glistening stars over the cabana, I feel the possibility of rejuvenation in spite of the harrowing day.
“Can you believe they almost couldn’t find our luggage?” I remind him.
“Or your missing hotel reservations left at home on your phone?” he counters.
“Oh my God, how could I forget?”
“What would you like to do tomorrow morning?” my beloved asks. “I was going to suggest a sunrise champagne breakfast, followed by surfing lessons. Or there are samba lessons we could sign up for at 9 am. Your choice.”
I almost choke on my Kahlua. I have no words. No words at all.
“What’s the matter, Honey? Don’t those things sound fun?”
“I guess I’m not a morning person,” I reply. “But don’t they have samba lessons tonight? I’m ready to rumble!”
He turns his wrist to look at his watch. He makes a tiny little grimace but then says, “Why not? Let’s go!”
I love this guy. I think it’s going to work out.
“Yes, Darling, what were you saying?” I swirled the ruby liquid in its crystal glass. I guess I better not let myself get swept away in my real-life fantasies, I mused.
“Do I want to jet away to the Bahamas tomorrow? …an impromptu celebration?” My new husband’s gorgeous brown eyes twinkled at me. “It’s a surprise,” he said. That adorable dimple developed in his left cheek as his smile grew.
My heart, if possible, melted just a little bit more. “Absolutely,” I replied. What a catch!
“We’ll be leaving LAX tomorrow at 8:00,” he continued. “I hope that’s OK.”
“Bahamas? I’ve never been there.” I could hardly think of anything else. Tropical Beach? Sign me up!
“We’ll need to leave the house at …”
But I was already wondering if I needed a new bikini.
***
La la la tra la. The musical tinkling of the alarm punctured my sleep at pitch black o’clock. WaaaH!! That innocuous sound couldn’t fool me! This mid-slumber disruption was not in my wheelhouse!
“C’mon, dear. The Bahamas are calling.” Perfect husband appeared in my blurry vision already shaved, showered, and dressed. What the? That smile didn’t sleep?
Like an automatron, I sat up in bed. In synchrony, so did my hair upon my head.
“Hurry, dear, we need to leave the house in thirty minutes.”
If I had been able to think straight, I would have murdered him with my death glare. But it was far too early for such strenuous calisthenics. I ran the toothbrush over my morning-mouth teeth (was mine the red or the blue toothbrush?) climbed into the outfit I had set aside last night, (wondering how that tag ended up poking me in the throat,) and shoved a hat over my disheveled hair. Did I have my ID for the plane? The boarding pass? The snacks I had conscientiously packed? Yep, yep, and yep.
“Good to go,” I mumbled.
Thirty minutes later, as we parked the car, I tucked the bar-coded parking receipt into my purse. Ten minutes after that, as we were checking in, a small part of my brain woke up. “Um Darling? I left my phone at home.”
“What?!” Darling exclaimed. “How will you get by?! Well, too late to go retrieve it now.” He continued checking our bags in. As a reaction to my muddled mind, I was compelled to clear my purse of all the extraneous grocery lists, used tissues, and expired coupons. I dumped them in the large airport trash can. Whew, that’s a little better, I mused. Unnoticed, the parking receipt fluttered into the bin with the rest of the dreck.
We hurried through Security. I made sure to pick up my car keys out of the doggie bowl TSA provides for random objects like that and carefully stowed them into one of my jacket’s six pockets. We sat and waited for our flight to board while eating the tortilla cream cheese wraps I had crafted last night. We’re getting there. I was still smarting about the forgotten cell phone but at least we were in the right place.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re sorry to announce that this flight will be delayed by two hours due to an issue with the jet stream…”
Hubby and I turned distraught eyes upon each other. He jumped up to go attempt to make changes in our flight itinerary.
Thirty minutes later we watched our original flight begin boarding while we waited for our rescheduled flight. Again, we turned our suffering eyes upon each other. Oh well.
***
At last! On the plane-squeezed, of course, between two strangers. Darling Husband is three rows back. That’s what comes from last minute rescheduling.
I had packed so carefully! But I realize my personal seat allotment is more like a vacuum cleaner shoved into the middle of an already over-stuffed coset. I begin to pull my diversionary materials out of the backpack with the five zippered compartments. I know where the laptop is. I extract it and place it on top of the jacket and sweater on my knees. This seems inconvenient so I move it to the tray table. I fish out two crossword magazines and place them on top of the laptop and then turn the whole pile by 90 degrees, hoping to miraculously create a smidge more space. I wonder into which hidey-hole I had tucked my red pen. Bent over jackets and twisting around the tray table I grope through the backpack which is keeping my storage scheme a mystery. Aha! There’s the pen. I eye it with mild trepidation. It seems like last time…
Gotcha! Red ink blurts out of the pen coating my hands like blood. Uh-huh, that‘s what happened last time. This pen’s plumbing is no match for the changing air pressure at thirty-thousand feet. I use the hand sanitizer wipe helpfully offered by the flight attendant as we boarded to clean up the ink carnage on my erstwhile pen and try to remove the evidence from my fingers and palms.
I set to work the nearly dead pen on the crossword until it totally gives out, crossword 90% done. OK, now what shall I do?
I carefully remove the iPad from zippered pocket #1 (or would that be #5) and attempt to open the Kindle book I had purchased yesterday to pleasantly pass the interminable hours on the plane. Am I doing this wrong? Where’s the kindle book? Nada, no luck, ingenting. Ok, so much for that; what else can I read on this thing?
The flight attendant comes by offering beverage service. I perk up. “Could I please have a decaf coffee?” I implore him.
“It’s just instant,” he replies with some chagrin.
“That’s fine.” I’m aware that’s the way it usually is for us decaf folks. Ten minutes later he shuffles back with a creamy mixture. I take a sip with anticipation. Cool! No, COLD! This stuff has been brewed with cold tap water! Not my fault but certainly par for today’s course.
I glance back at Hubbs, perhaps seeking some long-distance sympathy. I get a little tremor of apprehension seeing his exquisitely cute seatmate chatting him up. How dare he give her his winsome smile?! My smile! Now that I’ve finally woken up, why is my day turning out like this?
***
The soft black tropical night envelopes us as we chink our glasses together. We’re finally here! Between the soothing sounds of gentle waves and the glistening stars over the cabana, I feel the possibility of rejuvenation in spite of the harrowing day.
“Can you believe they almost couldn’t find our luggage?” I remind him.
“Or your missing hotel reservations left at home on your phone?” he counters.
“Oh my God, how could I forget?”
“What would you like to do tomorrow morning?” my beloved asks. “I was going to suggest a sunrise champagne breakfast, followed by surfing lessons. Or there are samba lessons we could sign up for at 9 am. Your choice.”
I almost choke on my Kahlua. I have no words. No words at all.
“What’s the matter, Honey? Don’t those things sound fun?”
“I guess I’m not a morning person,” I reply. “But don’t they have samba lessons tonight? I’m ready to rumble!”
He turns his wrist to look at his watch. He makes a tiny little grimace but then says, “Why not? Let’s go!”
I love this guy. I think it’s going to work out.