Let's take a minute to contemplate the Asshats. She's wearing all black, as though she were in mourning. She's fussily made-up am has hair combed so as to be as fluffed up as possible. She's got that certain bourgeoise air, seems a little befuddled at riding in the back of the plane with the commoners. Mr. Asshat is a gray-haired 60-something, wearing the ubiquitous khakis and loafers of his tribe.
The pair boarded the plane at the last minute. They were assigned the two aisle seats in row 33. Ah, but wait. There's a BABY sharing seats A and B with her grandma and mom. Oh, no, thinks Mr. Asshat. The missus and I are going to take the two seats next to the nice red-haired lady quietly reading the latest Steve Berry book. So, Mr. Asshat pesters the beleaguered flight attendant into his proposed new seating arrangement. Then he snuggles in next to me and Steve Berry. But wait, that doesn't work for him. He wants the aisle seat! So, he and Mrs. Asshat change seats. When the poor lady originally destined to sit next to me came on board, Mr. Asshat importantly informed her that "they" (presumably the airline) had put his missus into her seat. She, the lady, has to sit beside the BABY.
OK, enough about my traveling companions. I had a wonderful time on my holiday break. I spent Sunday in the company of the "Neighborhood Kids," talking and laughing and (for Marijo and I) polishing off a bottle of Yvette's excellent wine. Monday afternoon was spent with the parentals, beating the pater at Jeopardy, as I always do (unless the final Jeopardy question is so damned obscure that nobody but the pater could get it).
My last day in town was spent with my babies. We saw the new Star Wars --which was wonderful except that I hadn't read any spoilers and was, therefore, shocked by what happened. Afterwards, we had a delicious dinner at Chevy's courtesy of Yvette, the World's Greatest Hostess. Back to Aunt Sandy and Uncle Dale's house for dessert. Then, by some fluke, Yvette and I watched that genealogy show with Henry Louis Gates. That finally got Yvette to see that tracing black family history is not impossible. Out came the laptop, and we stayed up late playing with the Woolfolk family history. So much fun!!
But, now to get home. Mrs. Asshat brought no reading material with her, does not want to watch the TV, and is now left with just the Delta magazine to keep her company for the next four hours.
More later.,,,
It's nearly midnight here in my tiny flat in Knoxville. I've made myself some dinner, watched a little TV, and am now in a hot bath (of course).
The Asshats irritated me for the rest of the flight to Atlanta. Mrs. Asshat seemed to be afraid of accidentally brushing up against me (and I showered this morning!!), so she hugged up next to her man all the way across the country. He played fake gambling games from California to Georgia, sipping a Bloody Mary (like tri-tip, a staple of his tribe) and eating one of the roast beef sliders that he and the missus shared from the over-priced food trolley ("Something from the trolley, dears?").
The plane landed on time at Atlanta, but then took a long, leisurely drive to the gate. Then, there was the interminable wait while everybody in the front of the plane got off. I had to hustle to a completely different terminal to catch my flight to Knoxville. Then, when I ran on board, I discovered it was a flight for extremely narrow people. Both me and my carry-on, as you all know, are full-sized. I felt like I was playing the scene from Airplane where the stewardess hit everyone on the head with the guitar. I scrambled into my seat, thanks to my equally full-sized neighbor, and dove back into Steve Beery for the ride to Knoxville.
Now, I'm home, thank goodness, and can start gearing up for the next semester.
Until May, Sacramento!!!
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