Yesterday, when Brad and I were waiting to (finally) get on the plane from DFW to Fresno, we watched a young father put his two little girls on the plane before everyone else boarded. Once they walked through the gate, he walked back around to the window to watch them walk down the runway to the plane, and as soon as they disappeared from sight, he started to cry. Man tears. Not ugly heaving sobs, like I would have cried, but the wobbly chin and tugging down of the baseball cap and fervent rubbing of the eyes. A little lump formed in my throat, and I looked over at Brad to ask if he was watching the man. Brad looked back at me with his own version of the man tears, red swollen eyes and sleeve wiping away wetness behind his glasses. He's so sensitive sometimes.

American *&^%ing Airlines did throw us one bone after screwing us on the hotel thing - they bumped us up to First Class. I dont ever want to go back, y'all. Before we boarded, we decided that whatever we were offered up there in the VIP section, we were going to take seconds. We actually had leg room. And tilty headrests. We got to board first, and watch the other passengers bustle by on their way to Frickety Fracking Coach Class with an air of superiority. The stewardness really did bring us warm nuts, much to our adolescent amusement. My ginger ale was served in a glass, not a plastic cocktail cup. We were served lunch on little trays, with fabric napkins and Milano cookies. And then... that was it. About an hour and a half into the flight, after lunch was cleared and my ginger ale refreshed, I asked Brad, "So, what do you think is next? Live entertainment? Belly dancers? Foot massage?" Brad guessed that suddenly the curtain seperating us from Frackity Class would be pulled shut, and Snoop would would appear with big fat joint. Alas, there was... nothing. Nothing. HELLO? We're VIPs, remember? WHERE IS OUR BIG FAT DOOBIE? All we got was a hot towel, which was really just a damp washcloth. We weren't really sure what do with it, so I rubbed it all over my non-made-up face. WOOO. Hot towel. Means nothing. Overall, I decided that First Class is slightly overrated, and equivalent to eating at Denny's if you normally go to Golden Corral.

Do you know what we forgot to do, though? The one thing that makes First Class the Class Above Frack? We forgot to DRINK. How is that possible? How did we forget about FREE ALCOHOL? Well, we did, and that's when I realized that I am offically 27 going on 84.

Last night, after eating awesome shrimp nachos and opening fabulous gifts and talking forever with the fam, Brad and I laid awake for an hour trying to remember what movie the saying "I sharted" came from, since Brad insists on whispering that in my ear at the most inappropriate moments. It's Along Came Polly, if you're wondering. Thank you, internets.

Today we are on our way to Pismo Beach, were Jeanne and Bruce's friends have graciously lent us their beach house for the night. I don't know what people do at a beach in December, but I'm about to find out.

Lucy loves you |