The Best Sun – Thurs Ever

Sunday through Thursday. It’s not a week, it’s not a weekend, it’s not a long weekend. It may be a fortnight…I’m sure someone can Google it.

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Interesting note : Neanderthals used a Sun – Thurs week for their calendar. It didn’t work out too well. They ended up in their cutoffs planting the fields in four feet of snow. That’s why they went extinct.

 

 

 

 

I’ve just arrived home from the best Sun – Thurs ever. A visit to Grandboy Hudson and his parental units. This trip to So Cal I accomplished a couple of dining wishes “In’N’Out, In’N’Out – that’s what a hamburger is allll about…”, did some hanging out with old friends and completed the much anticipated Hudson’s Return to Disneyland. (I paid for this annual pass and I’m getting my money’s worth, dammit!)

 

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For those of you who are new readers, we trekked to Disneyland with Hudson about three months ago. That went well enough to warrant a return with his now 7 months pregnant Mom and hooky playing Dad.

 

 

 

 

This trip was one of sheer amazement…for him. We started at the Tiki Room and I don’t think the amazed look left his face until after he got to wave at Santa.

 

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Thursday at 6am I arrived at LAX for my return flight. I resisted the display of See’s candy, debated the options of bad airport carry-on food verses bad airplane food.

We boarded on time. Row 12. I arrived at my seat first, as the rest of the passengers (or customers, as we are now known) filed in.

A typical business type took the window seat. He was well travelled, quick to stow his luggage and arrange his in-flight accessories. We looked at each other and nodded, silently praying for a petite Asian girl to occupy the center seat. We waited for the dreaded,”We have a completely full flight today…” announcement.

The boarding line moved slowly by; the middle aged parents with an adopted Chinese infant, the hairy dude who looked like his diet consisted of Taco Bell, wearing an unintentional crop top, the granddad with two ski poles for balance who kept asking, “Is this row 26?”

The parade of “God, please not him” crept by. The flight attendant closed the overhead bins, looking in everyone’s crotch like a porno casting director. Paperwork passed from the gate agent to the flight deck. Seconds ticked by. Then…great relief as the door swung shut. No more passengers. My row mate and I shared a moment of victory. 17 inches of prime real estate between us – unoccupied. It would be a good flight.

Then they announced the in-flight TV was broken…

So I wrote this blog.

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