Stopped for a beer. It's a rule. Plus the bartender ID'd me. It took a sec to realize she was talking to me. Flight was ok—Debbie and family sat behing me. Crazy. Speaking of which, Mom asked me what I was wearing/what I'd brought for clothes.She said she'd realized why those issues had been consuming me for the past few days:The Dressing. (...wait for it...trip to Turkey...see?) I groaned audibly.
The women at the waitress station keep asking the bartender for glasses of ice. Atlanta is not Brookfield.
So many people traveling with kids, little adorable ones (not the sullen teen variety). All these little color coordinated kids of 4, 5 and 6, pulling their little roller bags with purpose. Naturally I think constantly of Liv and Ruby and how well they'd be travelling. This is going to be hard.
Flight leaves in 1 hour. David is here.
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