I flew to Grand Rapids, Michigan, last Wednesday. I had the displeasure of being crammed into the airplane within earshot of a snotty preschooler with a bad attitude and a screamy infant boycotting sleep. I arrived in Chicago desperate to breath cool fresh air, but the Chicago airport was stuffy and teeming with people in a hurry. And it was impossible to find a doorway leading to the great outdoors.
I waited two hours for my flight to Grand Rapids. That flight lasted less than an hour and deposited me in a tiny airport. I rode a shuttle bus to the Ramada when it became apparent my friend was still on the road and couldn’t pick me up as we’d planned.
No matter. On the shuttle were two other women who were also attending the same conference.
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. . . to be continued. (It’s not all that exciting, really, but if I don’t publish this portion of the story, my toilet paper post remains the last thing I’ve said and . . . really? REALLY? I’m so busy but I’m going to write about my jaunt to Grand Rapids. Eventually. Maybe even tomorrow. But tonight, I’m going to bed because I’m spending my morning with a two-year old. It’s complicated.)