It’s a Glamorous Life
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Bangkok—the weather is steamy-hot, the food is sweat-inducing, and the buoying presence of our offspring is helping to ease my grief into the background hum of my days, where I suspect it will become just another feature of my personal emotional landscape.
It’s a Glamorous Life
We left Raleigh on Monday, acutely aware of the length of the journey ahead of us. No matter which way you fly—east, west, over, under, backwards, forwards—it’s a looooooong way from North Carolina to Thailand. Lee headed out to run a last couple of errands on his way to the airport, while I finished jamming things into my suitcase, Tetris-style. I was pleased with myself for running a bit ahead of schedule, even after I kneeled on the suitcase to get it zipped.
As I surveyed the room and dug in my purse for the rental car keys, I sneezed really hard, three times in quick succession.
Do you know what sometimes happens when post-menopausal women sneeze really hard? I peed myself a tiny bit.
We were staring down the barrel of 20+ hours in the air, so I sighed and put down my purse and unzipped my perfectly-packed suitcase to find dry underwear.
I was no longer running early.
That was Monday morning. Fast-forward to Wednesday morning, Bangkok time, when our plane landed after a day and a night and another day and night that we sort of skipped entirely (I think our Tuesday was 3 hours long, which we spent in the Doha airport and I only vaguely remember). There had been no hitches, just a lot of sitting and dozing and airplane food.
We always bolt off the plane when we enter a country, because you never know when you’re going to get stuck in an hour-long immigration line. The sooner you get into the line, the sooner you can get through it and find caffeine-water-toilet-SIM card-taxi etc. Plus, who isn’t tired of sitting after being on a plane? I’m ready to get moving and get the blood flowing to my legs again.
I was seated in front of Lee, and I hit the jetway at top speed, pulling my bags behind me, dodging and weaving around the slow movers. I glanced back a couple of times to make sure he was back there, but once I caught sight of him, I kept going, making a beeline for immigration.
It was weird how far back he was, though.
When he finally caught up with me on an escalator, I gave him a quizzical look, and he said, deadpan, look at my feet.
It took me a second to comprehend, but … his shoes were on the wrong feet. He’d been shuffling through the airport, trying to catch me, with those size 13 Hokas ON THE WRONG FEET. His feet looked like the feet of the world’s largest toddler.
Y’all, I laughed so I hard I nearly fell down the rest of the escalator. I nearly wet myself again. I laughed so hard people turned and stared, and the man behind us actually asked what had happened. Then he started laughing too.
Now, before anyone asks whether Lee minds when I tell stories like this, let me just point out: I started this essay by confessing that I peed myself. That’s about as fair and balanced as I can be.
Welcome to our glamorous jet-set life.
Take care,
Lisa
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