The quarterly trips Thing 1 and I take to Chicago to meet with her rheumatologist, more often than not, have their hitches.
Like the very first time we went. Thing 1 was all pumped up to visit the Chicago Children's Museum. She dug for dinosaur bones among the ground bits of old rubber tires, ran the cash register at the play supermarket and pumped 'tane at the pretend gas station.
Two hours later, she developed a staph infection and puked on the hospital sidewalk. And my shoes, too.
It went much better this time around.
We jumped an earlier flight that took off and landed … on time! The 85-degree Midwest sunshine was tempered by a healthy Lake Michigan breeze that made it feel more like late May than mid-August. I escaped the American Girl Place (never "store") with only $121 from my wallet and 20 minutes of my life disappearing.
The visit to the doc also went extremely well and I write about it today on DadCentric.com (I also hit you up for a donation for Thing 1's foundation, but I understand that times suck. I'd be cool if all you did was read the post and gave me a comment).
Then came the attempt to get back home.
For once, our appointment with the rheumatologist sped along. No waiting for blood testing! Thing 1 peed in the cup on first try! (Let the record state that she REALLY needs to start getting that urine sample in the plastic cup without my assistance). We got back to O'Hare four hours before our scheduled flight, early standby on our minds.
Unfortunately, "weather" (I believe this is code for "incompetence") canceled all the days' flights up until our original one. We ended up hanging at Chili's Too and Wolfgang Puck's Café, eating junk and drinking ... stuff ... and getting on each other's nerves for five hours.
Where did that extra hour come from? Well, our plane arrived on time … but then it was relegated to the scrap heap because of a "mechanical failure." I think a wheel locked on the beverage cart.
When the secondhand plane arrived, we boarded with Group 6, the last ones to enter the cabin and always the ones with the most carry-on luggage.
As we made our way up the aisle, I stopped in the first-class section and turned to ask Thing 1 to hand me one of her bags since the overhead compartments here were mostly empty because these people can afford to check bags at $15 a pop ($25 for your second! What a deal!).
"Hey! Watch it! You are hitting me with that!"
When I turned, my backpack apparently nailed some blue-hair in 3C. I apologized quickly, sincerely and just as Mom had taught me. Then it got ugly.
"Well, you need to pay more attention to what you're doing, blah blah blah …"
"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I apologized. There's not much more I can do. There's no need to get upset and make a fuss. I'm sorry. It was my fault."
"Well, I'll get upset and raise a fuss if I want to! I blah blah blah …"
I rolled my eyes, turned and went up the aisle. Then I looked over my shoulder and out it came:
"Oh, go have another free drink and get over it!"
I felt good with this all the way back to LaGuardia. Then as we disembarked, I saw the blue-hair on the bridge into the terminal.
She was in a wheelchair.
So, I ask you, what circle of hell does this move me down to?
If you know, tell them at Humor-Blogs.com. I'd like my room ready when I arrive.
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