“Congratulations, you’re white!”
— TSA agent, thus ending my Global Entry “interview,” which lasted 10 seconds and literally consisted of me sitting down, saying “Hello,” and her responding with that one line.
(Ok, maybe it was “Congratulations, you’ve been pre-approved!” But I heard what I heard.)
Eric is flying into Norfolk, Virginia tomorrow to meet us in the Outer Banks. I was going to pick him up, but the drive is almost 2 hours each way, and he’s insisting uber is fine.
(I still feel bad)
((Not bad enough to pick him up, though.))
Eric, filling out a questionnaire for the travel agent planning our honeymoon….
“How many blazers do I need?”
— Eric, still clearly not understanding what’s going to happen on this vacation.
The airline announces that they will now board all people with disabilities…
Me: “Does your diabetes count as a disability for travel?”
Eric: “Ummm no.”
Me: “Well, it should.”
Eric: “Does your mental illness count as a disability for travel?”
Me: “No. But you have a meter and insulin to prove your disability. I have nothing to prove mine.”
Eric: “They could spend 15 minutes with you.”
Eric and I, discussing a possible trip to Asia and the risk of Zika virus, in terms of future pregnancy …
Eric: “Well, this is an awkward conversation to have at this point.”
Me: “I don’t feel awkward at all!”
Eric: “Yeah me neither.”
Eric’s flight (to Georgia, not Florida. Apparently.) was delayed yesterday.
It wasn’t. Eric has spent 32 years on earth thinking that airplanes sit on a mat of tar before takeoff.
Eric will be gone for 5 days at the Golf Masters. I don’t see why the details are important.