one thing at a time, you know. Trust me, comfort will win out over fashion every morning when you realize you’ll be walking all over the place and not returning to the hotel until late at night.”
“Lisa, last time you went you lived out of a backpack. You told me you only took two T-shirts for ten days.”
“I took a few more this time.”
“And so did I,” Amy said with a flip in her voice.
Mark kept looking straight ahead and driving. He had seen us take our sparring positions before and knew better than to step in as a referee.
I looked out the window and reminded myself that this trip wasn’t going to be like last time in any respect. This was Amy’s turn to encounter Paris, and if she wanted to show up with two suitcases full of wardrobe options,who was I to shame her? She undoubtedly still had visions of making a debutante entrance.
We changed the subject and arrived at the airport in plenty of time. Acting as our valet, Mark toted both of Amy’s suitcases into the terminal. She carried her purse and medium-sized carry-on bag while I easily maneuvered my compact pieces of baggage. Mark stayed with us until we had checked in for our flight and reached the security checkpoint.
As he kissed Amy good-bye, I wished Joel had come as well and was giving me a passionate send off, too. Joel had offered twice to come, but I had insisted that wasn’t necessary. We had said our ardent good-byes the night before and left each other on sweet terms. Joel had asked that I bring him back some interesting sort of French food that would travel home well. I, of course, already was thinking chocolate.
That’s when I secretly wished I’d brought two suitcases. It was going to be hard to pack a serious amount of the good stuff into my already full luggage. Maybe Amy did know more about making a trip to Paris than I did.
D ue to an electrical storm,
our early flight was delayed. We waited in the boarding area for an hour and ten minutes before the announcement came that our flight was canceled. I’d never seen such a crazy scramble of frantic travelers.
Thanks to my aggressive advance through the terminal to the service desk, we were among the first to ask about rescheduling our flight. The airline employee studied our paperwork, checked our passports, and typed on the keyboard as if every key was sticking and needed extra coaxing to move. “We have a direct flight tomorrow morning at 8:10 that will get you into Paris at 9:20 tomorrow night.”
“Nothing else going out today?” I asked.
“No.”
“What about a flight with another airline?” Amy stillwas breathing hard. “Who has a flight that goes out today?”
The woman tapped the keyboard again with renewed aggressiveness. “I’m showing two more flights today, but …” She tapped some more.
“We’ll pay extra.” Amy reached for her wallet.
“I’ll need to see your tickets again.”
Amy looked at me and said, “Ooh!”
“What?”
“I almost forgot. We have travel insurance! Here. What does our policy cover in a case like this?”
The woman looked perturbed. “I’ll need to call a supervisor who can assist you with that.”
A uniformed gentleman came out of the back area and clearly was not pleased to see Amy’s “get out of jail free” card. He skimmed the forms and scowled at the computer screen.
“Okay,” he said after a few seemingly effortless clicks. “Two for Charles de Gaulle Airport departing from gate 83 in one hour.”
“Thank you,” Amy and I said in unison.
“And,” he lowered his voice, as if it was particularly painful for him to announce this final adjustment. “Both of your seats are in first class.”
Amy and I scooted to our gate, settled into our wide reclining leather seats, and shared a quiet giggle.
“This is so cool!” Amy said. “Let’s hear it for Joel’s insistence that we buy travel insurance including upgrades on the next available flight!”
I felt proud of my husband at that
“Lisa, last time you went you lived out of a backpack. You told me you only took two T-shirts for ten days.”
“I took a few more this time.”
“And so did I,” Amy said with a flip in her voice.
Mark kept looking straight ahead and driving. He had seen us take our sparring positions before and knew better than to step in as a referee.
I looked out the window and reminded myself that this trip wasn’t going to be like last time in any respect. This was Amy’s turn to encounter Paris, and if she wanted to show up with two suitcases full of wardrobe options,who was I to shame her? She undoubtedly still had visions of making a debutante entrance.
We changed the subject and arrived at the airport in plenty of time. Acting as our valet, Mark toted both of Amy’s suitcases into the terminal. She carried her purse and medium-sized carry-on bag while I easily maneuvered my compact pieces of baggage. Mark stayed with us until we had checked in for our flight and reached the security checkpoint.
As he kissed Amy good-bye, I wished Joel had come as well and was giving me a passionate send off, too. Joel had offered twice to come, but I had insisted that wasn’t necessary. We had said our ardent good-byes the night before and left each other on sweet terms. Joel had asked that I bring him back some interesting sort of French food that would travel home well. I, of course, already was thinking chocolate.
That’s when I secretly wished I’d brought two suitcases. It was going to be hard to pack a serious amount of the good stuff into my already full luggage. Maybe Amy did know more about making a trip to Paris than I did.
D ue to an electrical storm,
our early flight was delayed. We waited in the boarding area for an hour and ten minutes before the announcement came that our flight was canceled. I’d never seen such a crazy scramble of frantic travelers.
Thanks to my aggressive advance through the terminal to the service desk, we were among the first to ask about rescheduling our flight. The airline employee studied our paperwork, checked our passports, and typed on the keyboard as if every key was sticking and needed extra coaxing to move. “We have a direct flight tomorrow morning at 8:10 that will get you into Paris at 9:20 tomorrow night.”
“Nothing else going out today?” I asked.
“No.”
“What about a flight with another airline?” Amy stillwas breathing hard. “Who has a flight that goes out today?”
The woman tapped the keyboard again with renewed aggressiveness. “I’m showing two more flights today, but …” She tapped some more.
“We’ll pay extra.” Amy reached for her wallet.
“I’ll need to see your tickets again.”
Amy looked at me and said, “Ooh!”
“What?”
“I almost forgot. We have travel insurance! Here. What does our policy cover in a case like this?”
The woman looked perturbed. “I’ll need to call a supervisor who can assist you with that.”
A uniformed gentleman came out of the back area and clearly was not pleased to see Amy’s “get out of jail free” card. He skimmed the forms and scowled at the computer screen.
“Okay,” he said after a few seemingly effortless clicks. “Two for Charles de Gaulle Airport departing from gate 83 in one hour.”
“Thank you,” Amy and I said in unison.
“And,” he lowered his voice, as if it was particularly painful for him to announce this final adjustment. “Both of your seats are in first class.”
Amy and I scooted to our gate, settled into our wide reclining leather seats, and shared a quiet giggle.
“This is so cool!” Amy said. “Let’s hear it for Joel’s insistence that we buy travel insurance including upgrades on the next available flight!”
I felt proud of my husband at that
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