I finally got confirmation on Wednesday night that all plans were settled for my weekend in dc. I had a place to stay and a cute marine to hang out with. My anxiety level came down to base camp one, and I could channel my nerves to more important things like actually seeing this marine. I shouldn’t have anything to worry about, because it’s not like he ever sees girls. Unless you count the girls with their slick back buns and panty hose. I believe I will be fine.
I’ve never been one to hurry to the airport, actually, I’ve never been one to hurry anywhere, but specifically the airport. Thirty minutes is plenty of time to get your bags checked, make it through security, and board. Today I got to the airport with exactly 30 minutes to take off. Not boarding, take off. I was the second to last person in line to get on the plane. I’ve been very last before, so maybe I’m getting more punctual.
My suitcase is the most enormous hot pink bag you’ve ever seen. It’s heavy when it’s empty, so you can imagine that when I pack it for a week long trip my tendency to go overboard only makes it heavier. When I got to the check in the guy picked it up and didn’t say anything, so I breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t going to have to put things in my lap top bag. Then he pulls out a neon green tag that says, “late arrival.” really I’m not that late…I’m not after the time. I then ask the man if he thinks I will make it on the plane. He responds, “Yes, you’ll make it, but I’m not sure your bag will.” I’m sorry sir, did you just say that my bag might not make it? I pleaded for him to get it on the plane. Will the airlines contact me if my bag doesn’t make it? No. I have to wait at baggage claim to find out the fate of my enormous hot pink suit case. Needless to say, if I wasn’t nervous enough about seeing the marine again, I am sufficiently nervous now. Lest you soon forget…I don’t have what one would call a stellar track record with the Baltimore airport.
I guess I’d just have to go shopping…like I wasn’t going to do that anyway.