While we were de-boarding the plane in Atlanta, the asshat in 39D, the one that had his head in my lap for the entire flight? Hit me in the face with his backpack.
And some old guy grabbed my left boob.
And a small child explained how to make chocolate milk. I loved that little boy. He kept me focused and less likely to stab someone. Then our luggage didn’t make our connecting flight to Greensboro. Thanks, Delta. You never fail to disappoint me.
When we got it back, it was soaking wet. And our new suitcase, the one we bought in Portland to replace the one that Delta broke on the flight out there, was broken.
And I was never so glad to see my dirty laundry before in my life.
Back to reality.
