bow.
“You can mock me if you want, but there’s actually a very sensible side to my pink luggage.”
“Really?” Fran nods. “I’d like to hear this.”
“Well, first of all, pink is easy to spot in baggage claim.”
“Yes.” Fran nods again. “That does make sense.”
“But besides that, it’s a security measure.”
“Security?” Fran looks puzzled.
“I have a suspicion that most thieves would not want to be seen making off with my girlie pink luggage. Plus, if they try anything, it’d be very easy to pick them out of a crowd.”
Fran chuckles. “Well, aren’t you the sensible girl.”
Paige smiles smugly. “Whereas your brown luggage and Erin’s black luggage…well, don’t come crying to me if something goes missing.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure I’d want to look like a pink princess just to make sure my clothes didn’t get stolen.”
“In your case, stolen clothes could be considered a good thing.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Fran is laughing. “You girls. Maybe we should try having a special sister spot on one of your shows, arguing like that. It could be highly entertaining.”
“We could call it the sister spat spot,” I offer.
But there’s no time for spatting once we finally make it to the airport. Thanks to a wreck that shut the freeway down for more than an hour, we’re already running late by the time we get to LAX. Fran has already called Leah to do what she can to get our flight changed, but just as we’re being dropped off, Leah calls Fran to say she still hasn’t found anything.
“We’re going to have to run for it,” Fran tells us as she dashes to snag a luggage cart for Paige to heap all her bags onto. “At least I thought to get our boarding passes online last night.” She frowns at Paige, who’s wheeling a small mountain of pink. “But it might take awhile to check those.”
Somehow we get our bags checked and it actually looks like we might make it through security, but then Paige gets stopped because she stupidly packed a bottle of perfume in her carry-on.
And to make matters worse, she’s about to throw a hissy fit when she’s told it’ll have to be disposed of. Fran is long gone now, already on her way to our gate, where she plans to beg the flight crew to wait. And I was ready to make a run for it too, but I can’t just abandon my sister here. So I wait…and watch…and it’s like I’m about to witness a train wreck.
“But it’s Prada Infusion d’Iris,” Paige protests. “It’s brand new and it cost more than one hundred dollars.”
“Too bad.” The no-nonsense security guard sets the expensive Prada beside what appears to be a trash container.
“Wait! I can fit it into my Ziplock!” Paige is scrambling to open her already full Ziplock bag.
“Even if you could fit it into your Ziplock, it’s more than three ounces,” the woman tells her. “It has to go.”
“But what if I empty some of the perfume out?” Paige smiles hopefully. “Or I could use some. Look, it’s only three point four ounces. I could use up point four ounces.”
I look at my watch and know we don’t have time for this. “Just let it go,” I yell at her. “And come on!”
Just then, Paige reaches over and takes the perfume bottle, and I’m thinking bad move , Paige. Really, really bad move. I give my sister the slash-throat cut sign, thinking maybe she’llget a clue and stop this craziness. But she’s not looking my way. So I just stare helplessly as the scene unfolds—it seems almost like it’s in slow motion. Paige has her precious perfume in one hand, Ziplock in the other. She’s trying to open the perfume. And the middle-aged, overweight female security guard is glaring at her as she says something into the Bluetooth wired to her head. Most likely calling for backup.
Paige is totally oblivious to the guard as she liberally squirts perfume on herself like she thinks she’s really going to use up nearly half an ounce. And
“You can mock me if you want, but there’s actually a very sensible side to my pink luggage.”
“Really?” Fran nods. “I’d like to hear this.”
“Well, first of all, pink is easy to spot in baggage claim.”
“Yes.” Fran nods again. “That does make sense.”
“But besides that, it’s a security measure.”
“Security?” Fran looks puzzled.
“I have a suspicion that most thieves would not want to be seen making off with my girlie pink luggage. Plus, if they try anything, it’d be very easy to pick them out of a crowd.”
Fran chuckles. “Well, aren’t you the sensible girl.”
Paige smiles smugly. “Whereas your brown luggage and Erin’s black luggage…well, don’t come crying to me if something goes missing.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure I’d want to look like a pink princess just to make sure my clothes didn’t get stolen.”
“In your case, stolen clothes could be considered a good thing.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Fran is laughing. “You girls. Maybe we should try having a special sister spot on one of your shows, arguing like that. It could be highly entertaining.”
“We could call it the sister spat spot,” I offer.
But there’s no time for spatting once we finally make it to the airport. Thanks to a wreck that shut the freeway down for more than an hour, we’re already running late by the time we get to LAX. Fran has already called Leah to do what she can to get our flight changed, but just as we’re being dropped off, Leah calls Fran to say she still hasn’t found anything.
“We’re going to have to run for it,” Fran tells us as she dashes to snag a luggage cart for Paige to heap all her bags onto. “At least I thought to get our boarding passes online last night.” She frowns at Paige, who’s wheeling a small mountain of pink. “But it might take awhile to check those.”
Somehow we get our bags checked and it actually looks like we might make it through security, but then Paige gets stopped because she stupidly packed a bottle of perfume in her carry-on.
And to make matters worse, she’s about to throw a hissy fit when she’s told it’ll have to be disposed of. Fran is long gone now, already on her way to our gate, where she plans to beg the flight crew to wait. And I was ready to make a run for it too, but I can’t just abandon my sister here. So I wait…and watch…and it’s like I’m about to witness a train wreck.
“But it’s Prada Infusion d’Iris,” Paige protests. “It’s brand new and it cost more than one hundred dollars.”
“Too bad.” The no-nonsense security guard sets the expensive Prada beside what appears to be a trash container.
“Wait! I can fit it into my Ziplock!” Paige is scrambling to open her already full Ziplock bag.
“Even if you could fit it into your Ziplock, it’s more than three ounces,” the woman tells her. “It has to go.”
“But what if I empty some of the perfume out?” Paige smiles hopefully. “Or I could use some. Look, it’s only three point four ounces. I could use up point four ounces.”
I look at my watch and know we don’t have time for this. “Just let it go,” I yell at her. “And come on!”
Just then, Paige reaches over and takes the perfume bottle, and I’m thinking bad move , Paige. Really, really bad move. I give my sister the slash-throat cut sign, thinking maybe she’llget a clue and stop this craziness. But she’s not looking my way. So I just stare helplessly as the scene unfolds—it seems almost like it’s in slow motion. Paige has her precious perfume in one hand, Ziplock in the other. She’s trying to open the perfume. And the middle-aged, overweight female security guard is glaring at her as she says something into the Bluetooth wired to her head. Most likely calling for backup.
Paige is totally oblivious to the guard as she liberally squirts perfume on herself like she thinks she’s really going to use up nearly half an ounce. And
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