We’ve finally gotten Hannibal’s army, elephants and all, into our suitcases. The irony of children, the tiniest passengers, requiring the largest luggage has been pointed out previously, so I won’t rehash that here.
I would, however, like to thank the TSA for complicating the packing process with asinine regulations that have us trying to figure out if we really need to buy a whole package of quart size, zip top bags–not gallon size, not fold-over sandwich type, and five is right out–just to get our one container of liquid Tylenol on the plane.
After seeing how this virus has attacked 3B today, producing general misery, green flows of snot, and total lethargy–which is somewhat terrifying in a toddler who normally has the energy of a whirling dervish on crack, I’m sure that our fellow passengers would petition the TSA to allow the Tylenol on, whether it’s in the quart size, zip top bag or in a garbage sack tied off with a broken shoelace.
Ah well, we’ll do whatever the hell they want us to do, I suppose, because it’s the only way we can go home. And if there’s one thing I won’t forget on this trip or any other, it’s the way home, not ten years after I left, not ever. And if you see me on the way home, whatever you do, don’t step on my blue suede shoes, ’cause it’s one for the money, two for the show…