So this happened. And I'm knocked up so I couldn't even snowboard. Even though there aren't so much "mountains" in Ohio as much as "hills" that are really "mounds" barely higher than my "kneecaps". (I had a thing going there, did you see?)
But let me backtrack to the actual act of getting home for the weekend: In route to Columbus on Friday morning my lovely pilot, Pilot Dan, decided to turn the plane around, and send us back to New York only to wait on the plane for 40 minutes before he told us he was going to and I quote, "Try this again" end quote. Fantastic. Let's just "try" this whole thing with the flying and the 38,000 feet altitude, and the landing part in a FREAKING BLIZZARD. Yeah, let's just try it. I mean, how bad could it be if it doesn't work, right?
No. No Pilot Dan, no.
In addition to ripping the muscles from my hands trying to hold onto the armrest as tightly as possible, I was blessed with the conversations of this quasi-elderly couple sitting behind me. It started just about the time Pilot Dan decided to make his U-Turn. They were annihilating each other for the fact that our plane was returning to New York and they might possibly miss the wedding they were supposed to attend on Saturday. I mean, this woman made Mommy Dearest look like June Cleaver. Of course, I tried my best not to eavesdrop - riiight, but it went on and on and at points I was furiously scribbling notes to myself so I could remember to tell you about the funniest parts. Here's a summary:
Him: We'd better call John.
Her: We are NOT calling John! Why would we call him?! We have no idea what's going to happen! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. We are NOT calling John.
Her: Did you take my Rachel Ray? I can't find my Rachel Ray!
Him: No, did you put it up with the coats?
Her: NO! Why would I have put it up with the coats? I couldn't even have put it up there, your coat was too big! I think someone stole it.
Him: That's it! I'm telling the stewardess.
Her: NO you are NOT! You are not telling the stewardess. But someone must have stolen it. I know they did. I must have laid it down and someone took it.
Him: Miss! Miss! Someone stole my wife's magazine.
{Stewardess looks at the guy like, no shit? You think I care? And walks away without saying anything. - I love that girl.}
Her: You better put your seat up!
Him: I'm TRYING, but it won't WORK.
Her: You just have to push the button. What's the matter, can't you push the button. NO, not that one, the other one!
Him: I'm pushing it! It's not working! It's broken!
Her: You can't do anything.
You get the idea. This continued for the return trip to New York and then the entire time we sat there on the runway before taking off again. Mercy was upon me though, and once we took off the second time they pretty much shut up for the rest of the trip.
So we actually managed to arrive safely and I arrived at my parent's house to sit and watch the snow. And watch. And watch. And then we ate, then we watched some more. For the next two days, my activities consisted of eating, peeing, and sitting on the couch watching the 18 inches of snow fall 1 centimeter at a time. Everyone was snowed in so I got to go nowhere and only see 1/2 of the family, even though that still accounted for about 20 people.
One of the highlights was my sister bringing me my Girl Scout Cookies, yessssss, and catching up with my nieces and nephews. I also managed to burrow my way to Kohl's and get a few maternity shirts that are desperately needed, less I start wearing the only tops that still fit me - my scrub tops - with jeans to the bar on Friday night. (You'd better believe I would so do it.)
I also got to see my best friends and talk about the art of farting, and with-holding s.e.x. which is pretty much the reason that they are my best friends. I wonder if I'll ever be able to see my friends whenever I want. I hope so. Except now that my friends live all over the East Coast and Midwest, it might pose a geographical quandary.
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