resting near Ringo, oversold- how? & NOT checking the dress

A bit more about Vancouver, from JULY - I know, I know - the end is in sight, but there is more to tell.  Fun fact, I cannot sleep if I leave a party and realize I have not finished telling someone a story.  Shock, I know. . . 

At last the girls and I arrived at our gate.  I plopped down on a seat with a few other available seats adjacent to it for the girls.  I could not keep my eyes open, so I slept a little while surrounded by my girls, carry-on stuff, passports, & the fancy-ass Irish dancing dress.  Happy to be rid of the two  just-under-50-pound food bags being loaded under the plane (hopefully our plane).  

Across from our seats at the gate sat a woman maybe a little younger than me.  She was utilizing all of the charging station plugs within a close proximity to her seat.  She would have gotten tangled in all of her cords had she made any sudden movements.  

Laptop open.  Headphones in.  She was bopping to her music.  At one point she stopped using her laptop to search for a spot that her hand could jam out by extending it and tapping on the back of her neighbor’s chair.  Only no one was sitting next to her.  Who would?  

I inserted an orange arrow here to point out
the feet in purple socks no longer wearing shoes.
  Strange days indeed.  Most peculiar, Mama.  

I was too tired to move all of our stuff in order to avoid her, and there weren’t that many seats for the three of us, so I simply glanced at my girls.  Hoping they understood my ‘don’t-ever-behave-like-this-moron-in-public’ look.  Ringo propped her foot up on her carry-on.  For real.  She had her socked foot resting in the air, mid-isle.  Not far from my personal space.  People are strange.  

I was enjoying one of those naps where I don’t feel like I am asleep.  Just closing my eyes.  Then I sat up and felt the 'just-napped' nap feeling, and I knew I was zonked out for a few minutes.  Hoping of course that my snooze was less offensive than Bono’s body-rocking-to-her-tunes.  I would think so.  My appendages (still shoe wearing) were not protruding into the isle.  By the time I was awake from my nap, Cher was no longer sitting across from us.

I ordered the girls to eat the sandwiches that we packed and I inhaled my salad.  Between bites, I checked my email.  Thank God I did, because United had emailed me.  Gate change.  I rushed the girls to finish their lunch so we could gather our crap and walk a few miles thru O'Hare to our new gate.

I telepathically begged the airline not to lose my enormous checked bags of food (and paper plates, Tupperware, cereal, bagels, and various homemade baked breads).  Meanwhile, Curly’s Irish dancing dress that cost four times as much as my wedding dress, was tucked under my arm as we hauled ass to our new gate.  

The airline had impolitely over sold our flight.  I don’t get this?  How do they get away with charging me an arm and a leg to fly, then charging me a fee to check a bag (is there a way to fly without bringing your shit with you?  I mean I get the carry-on option, but how creative should people have to be to travel?  Isn’t it hard enough to travel without trying to pull it off with less than what you want to bring?  ‘Hope the weather doesn’t change on me, cause I can’t pack a sweater and pants!’), and then selling more seats than the plane offers.  INSANE.  

I had Mini snap this pic of me.  I wore some ugly clothes for the flight because I was trying to pack layers.  We were going to be hiking, so loose dry fit pants and a dry fit shirt seemed right.  The poop-brown and yellow colors were not my fave, but it made sense.  The reason for the pic was not to show you how awful the color combo was - check out the cover of my book, 'Flower Net' by Lisa See.  Same color scheme - I matched my book.   Am I good, or what?  FYI:  I do not recommend this book.  Liked her other books.  Not this one.  They say don't judge a book by its cover, but in this case I should have seen the ugly colors and assumed the book was not good, and then not dressed to match it.  

At the gate they demanded that all luggage (even carefully packed carry-ons) be checked.  This irks me.  I scrambled while standing in line, holding the boarding passes for me and my girlie traveling companions in my mouth while I yanked Curly’s dance shoe bag and my camera bag out of our carry-on/soon to be checked luggage.  No way in Hell was I gonna let those items be tossed under a plane operated by people who cannot count seats.  

I tensed up anticipating a flight attendant instructing me to put Curly’s dance dress worth more than its weight in gold in it’s oddly shaped triangular bag out of my sight under the plane.  Not happening.  (That sound? me weeping remembering how much this garment that she will soon outgrow cost us).   

No such request was made and I managed to slide it on top of the carry-ons that WERE SOMEHOW ALLOWED on board in a nearby overhead container.

Vancouver here we come!