There and Back Again, 2nd-half of 'There'
The next leg of the trip, from Houston to DCA (Ronald Reagan Airport, just south of DC), was now a feeder group in the huge influx of 'Going to the Inauguration'-ites from airline hubs. People were talking across aisles and to row neighbors about expectations and excitement. People were wearing Obama things. A few groups of ladies near me talked among themselves which party, celebration or unofficial Ball they were headed to, then expressed hope that they 'would get invited' to one of the Inaugural Balls. I figured that would be highly unlikely but stayed quiet.
Still, I was beginning to feel jumpy in my skin, wishing I could hop up and say, "I'm going!". I finally couldn't stand it any longer. The young ladies sitting next to me in my row were two of those hopefuls. After we'd gotten sodas and they'd become silent, I turned and mentioned, "Actually, I received an invitation to an Official Inaugural Ball - would you like to the see it?" And I was totally prepared for a response of disinterest - it's like saying, hey, look at how much candy I got from the piñata - who gives a frack, you know?
Both expressed surprise but the girl by the window assumed a slightly open-mouthed smile and began looking at the envelope on my lap I had retrieved beforehand from my laptop backpack. The middle girl just kinda stared so I figured she didn't care but was being polite. Neither said anything, so I figured, "…awkward…" then prompted Window again and was gratified that she nodded her head with clear interest.
It really is a gorgeous invitation - they have them for sale even at the Pres Inaug Committee's Online Store - and at that point my own was still pristine (now, it's curved in the middle and its envelope slightly besmirched with powered rouge, by having been shoved in K's galumphing purse when we took it to the Ball, in a fit of paranoia that we might need it). Battle scars, that's all - to be proud of.
I gave them the short version of what was now becoming my Standard Rap on how I came to have received the invitation, beginning with, "I'm part of Obama's Grassroots Supporters" (to recruit by modeling 'become a supporter, and look at what could happen'), and always ending with how lucky I was. The next part of the Rap is the confession of how I'd tossed the thing, and how even before I'd received the printed invitation in the mail I'd been sent an email by the PIC offering me the opportunity to purchase tickets for the Inaugural Parade but I'd ignored it, thinking, "Who likes parades?" - all because I'm a big imbecile not knowing wtf I was doing.
So, we were holding the invite over Middle Lady's lap, and when Window was done, I pulled it back to put it away in its envelope, then looked over to Middle and asked if she wanted to see it, too, and here she was really excited with eyebrows hiked and a RUf*king Kidding smile, like she'd held back for fear of grabbing it. So, we were back hunched over it while they're both looking at the scrolling font and I decide to read it aloud, because, I only think I'd done that twice at most because when assaying it I'd almost hurt with the deep feeling of amazement from doing so, along with the anxiety that I may have mis-read it before and I was myself the victim of my cruel dyslexia.
Later, when I stood from my seat, the lady in the seat in front of mine looked up at me and kept looking, and I finally had my 15 minutes of being a star.
Still, I was beginning to feel jumpy in my skin, wishing I could hop up and say, "I'm going!". I finally couldn't stand it any longer. The young ladies sitting next to me in my row were two of those hopefuls. After we'd gotten sodas and they'd become silent, I turned and mentioned, "Actually, I received an invitation to an Official Inaugural Ball - would you like to the see it?" And I was totally prepared for a response of disinterest - it's like saying, hey, look at how much candy I got from the piñata - who gives a frack, you know?
Both expressed surprise but the girl by the window assumed a slightly open-mouthed smile and began looking at the envelope on my lap I had retrieved beforehand from my laptop backpack. The middle girl just kinda stared so I figured she didn't care but was being polite. Neither said anything, so I figured, "…awkward…" then prompted Window again and was gratified that she nodded her head with clear interest.
It really is a gorgeous invitation - they have them for sale even at the Pres Inaug Committee's Online Store - and at that point my own was still pristine (now, it's curved in the middle and its envelope slightly besmirched with powered rouge, by having been shoved in K's galumphing purse when we took it to the Ball, in a fit of paranoia that we might need it). Battle scars, that's all - to be proud of.
I gave them the short version of what was now becoming my Standard Rap on how I came to have received the invitation, beginning with, "I'm part of Obama's Grassroots Supporters" (to recruit by modeling 'become a supporter, and look at what could happen'), and always ending with how lucky I was. The next part of the Rap is the confession of how I'd tossed the thing, and how even before I'd received the printed invitation in the mail I'd been sent an email by the PIC offering me the opportunity to purchase tickets for the Inaugural Parade but I'd ignored it, thinking, "Who likes parades?" - all because I'm a big imbecile not knowing wtf I was doing.
So, we were holding the invite over Middle Lady's lap, and when Window was done, I pulled it back to put it away in its envelope, then looked over to Middle and asked if she wanted to see it, too, and here she was really excited with eyebrows hiked and a RUf*king Kidding smile, like she'd held back for fear of grabbing it. So, we were back hunched over it while they're both looking at the scrolling font and I decide to read it aloud, because, I only think I'd done that twice at most because when assaying it I'd almost hurt with the deep feeling of amazement from doing so, along with the anxiety that I may have mis-read it before and I was myself the victim of my cruel dyslexia.
Later, when I stood from my seat, the lady in the seat in front of mine looked up at me and kept looking, and I finally had my 15 minutes of being a star.