We had room service for four this morning. Irene took everyone’s order, and then we all laughed while she sounded like Meg Ryan‘s character in When Harry Met Sally giving the order to room service on the phone.
During breakfast, we listened to the first 10 minutes of the Kid Logic episode of TAL, which they all loved, and prompted two “kid logic stories” of their own—one from Susan about Michael (I believe it was), and one from Irene about dear Katherine.
Michael’s incident was when they had gotten one of those “new fangled” cars years ago, one of the first ones in which a little display lit up indicating the door was open. Michael waved his foot in the vicinity, and said, “Hey where’s my foot?” He thought it was projecting the image instead of just being an indicator.
There was a period of time when Irene only let her kids watch “nice” shows, two of which at the time were Andy Griffith (understandable) and Get Smart (don’t ask). Of course both of these shows were in black and white. At some point into watching them, Katherine asked, “Mom, when did the world turn into color?”
“As soon as Dorothy landed in Oz,” I quipped.
Irene took me to the airport, and after twisting around the driving maze that DFW is, I finally checked in curbside at American Eagle, since that’s what I’d flown in on, only to find out that my return flight was on American, which was in a different terminal.
She made our way over there, and being that I was already checked in and the security line was extremely short, I was at the gate 10 minutes before my boarding time. Sweet.
I had the window seat next to two hyper-testosterone-macho men, one of whom acted like a high school kid when the flight attendant accidentally referred to one of the pilots as Gary Gurly before correcting herself with Gary Gurling.
Guffawing and slapping his knee: “Oooh. What a mistake to make. I’m sure the guy appreciates that.”
Then when the flight attendant came down the aisle, he was like, “How’s Mr. Gurly doing? I know he appreciated that.” And on and on.
I wanted to say two things: 1) What are you, twelve? and 2) “Do you make black and gay jokes, too, or do you specialize in gender jokes?”
Once again, thank &deity for iPods. I didn’t have to listen to any more of the drivel flowing from the adjacent seats the rest of the flight, not to mention yet another screaming baby in the row behind me, but on the other side of the plane at least.
Joe picked me up at the airport, and we had dinner at Moe’s Southwest Grill off Harrison Avenue, and then met later at Flex for Scareyoke.