We’re now in Cleveland and the airport is kind of a rathole. That’s my favorite word for icky places. Rathole. One time Steve and our youngest daughter, Tayler, and I stayed in a Holiday Inn in midtown NYC and it was a huge rathole. His brother suggested it. He may have received some sick pleasure in sending us there, I don’t know. I remember sleeping there during the day, while Steve and Tayler went swimming in a rooftop pool. I had heatstroke from being in the city in the damn summer!
Anyway, now we seem to be in a rathole in Cleveland. We’re waiting in a lounge area till the shuttle takes us to the convention. Steve thought the lady meant to wait in a nearby bar (when she clearly said, "waiting lounge"), so he was looking for somewhere that served drinks! Ha. She meant a seating lounge from the 70s. I don’t know what he’s whining about, as it seems to me I was the one in coach on the flight from Atlanta to here! Not even in the bulkhead. What the heck? He stretches as we meet in the waiting area, “How was your flight?” Snot.
He’s reading over my shoulder. Actually he’s trying to get my hair back in its barret. This stupid thumb does not lend itself to grooming. In the Atlanta airport, I was in the women’s room trying to safety pin my top as it’s too low-cut and I was tired of hanging out. Well, it’s almost impossible to pin anything with a big ole thumb, so finally a lady was laughing and said she could help me if I want. So she pinned my shirt. I should have asked her to fix my hair too! The barret is now in my pocket as Steve couldn’t make it work and neither could I. Oh well.
It’ll be time for the shuttle soon. I hope the hotel is good.
1 week ago