All the punctuation marks are in weird places.
It's Saturday morning, and I've managed to move my body clock from the 430 AM wake ups I've been having to a respectable 715 AM. Still pretty early, but at least not awkwardly so.
The international leg of my flight was much better than usual. No missionaries leading bible study during takeoff. No crying babies or obnoxiously immature blokes sticking their buttocks in my face. I was bit worried, as they'd switched out my seat without my permission and moved me from the bulkhead aisle I had to the last row of the plane, still an aisle but directly in front of the main toilets, the big kitchen and with no recline. However, I complained politely, and after a bit of a wait I got a plum aisle seat in the front section of coach, meaning more leg room and swifter exit in Chicago. Big win. My seatmates were a French family. The mom was sitting next to me, and though she was one of those people who believes she space in the row that she wants, she was friendly enough. I wasn't that fond of the raspy nasal sniff cough she made every so often, but I put my iPod on and couldn't hear it. Flight was even a little early.
I had stopped in duty free in London to buy treats for my friends hosting me in Minneapolis. Dunhill has 100th year anniversary editions that the boys from British American Tobacco were handing out at my last weekend of lectures. They got raves from everyone, so I picked up a little boxed set for my friend D, who likes the occasional cigarette and is known for her discriminating tastes. I then grabbed a bottle of delicious rum made in a Caribbean country about 90 miles from the US for K. Sadly, she is not enjoying it with ginger ale or tonic, though..it made it off the plane and into the country, but I neglected to put it in my checked baggage in Chicago and it got confiscated by the security checkpoints at Terminal Three. Numpty.
I believe that there is no such thing as an easy flight between Chicago and Minneapolis. We boarded the flight on time, but were forced to wheel to a remote part of the tarmac and wait for two hours before we could fly. We were allowed water or juice but not actual treats. It was not fun. The same thing happened in June when I was going from MSP to Chicago, and on Thursday my friend S's flight from MSP to Chicago was even cancelled, only supporting my theory that it's best to drive once you hit the Midwest. Note to self for future bookings.
I have done little else but eat delicious food and drink delicious cocktails since my arrival. I have decided that today I am going to take a long walk and do a daytime detox before I go to dinner with friends this evening. Or maybe I'll go out for bacon and pancakes for breakfast and take a long nap. Six of one. I have fabulous new hair. It is shorter and layered, and I have some bright cherry red streaks in it. The nice man at Cecil's Deli yesterday commented that his nieces have the same color in their hair. Of course, they are likely 13 and getting ready for school, whereas I am 41 and getting ready for my post MBA job search. Luckily I work in England, where definitions of appropriate hair color are a bit more broad.
Favourite sight: Little plastic google eyes on the "Don't do this or you'll trip and fall" icon in the jetway of my O'hare-MSP flight.
Favourite sound: the floorboards creaking as my friends walk around when they get up in the morning
Favourite taste: Maybe the dill pickles that were waiting for me when I got here. Maybe the Manhattan KB made me to go with them. Or maybe the fish tacos at the Longfellow Grill, or the delicious rigatoni with pancetta and onions we had for dinner last night, or, or, or...so many choices....