Scene: We're leaving Florida, boarding the jet for home. As I enter the plane, the steward reads my sweatshirt and says to me, "Ahh, you've been to Siesta Key."
By the way, I rarely ever wear words. I just don't. But I left my fashion comfort zone and bought a hot pink hoodie that clearly says, "Siesta Key."
So the steward remarks about my shirt and asks a typical question like, "Did you have a good time?" or some kind of small talk chatter. I smile, say yes, and keep moving.
Jorge is right behind me wearing a visor which says, "Siesta Key."
The steward then remarks to Jorge, "So you went to Siesta Key. She went to Fiesta Key, and you went to Siesta Key. Well, well!" I realize that the steward has mis-read my shirt. He is not joking; he thinks we went to two separate places. After all, he has no idea we're a couple.
So he made a mistake, but who holds up a line going into the death tube in the sky to make that kind of trivial correction? (Also by the way, regarding my fear of flying, the pilot was playing Words With Friends as we entered, not exactly a pilot-y activity, if you ask me. He should have been reading up on physics or something. And did I mention we saw the Denzel movie "Flight" while we were in FL? Eek.)
As I said, though, I was about to let the error pass, when I hear the steward say, "So she ate and you slept, huh?" Jorge laughs nervously and says, "Yeah." And the steward chuckles and says, "Well, that's what it looks like: she ate and you slept!"
?????????????? Excuse me? (They don't make enough incredulous question marks for me to type here.)
So I look over my shoulder and protest, "HEY."
And you should have seen those two bucks in the glare of my white hot stare. I think the steward realized what he had done, and Jorge just hurried me on down the aisle to avoid being thrown off the plane if I should stop everything and file a formal complaint about the steward calling me fat.
Once we sit down, I say, "What was THAT??" Mocking the steward I go on, '"You look like you slept, but she looks like she ate for the duration of the vacation." "I mean, what was THAT?"
And then like a good toady, Jorge says to me, "You know who he sounds like?"
"No, I don't."
"Like that donkey in Shrek!"
Jorge is a comical genius and diplomat. I let the steward live and keep his job knowing that when I lumber around talking with all that food hanging out of my mouth like sloppy water grass out of a hippo's mouth, at least I don't sound like a cartoon donkey.
So we land and decide to eat at Cracker Barrel. Just as I finish my meal, our server stops at our table and remarks: "Wow. You're done already?! Gee, you didn't have to hurry through it like that. Wow. No need to chow down. Take your time and enjoy your food!" etc., etc.
??????????????????????? Are you SERIOUS??
I can't even tell you what else he said because I was in the Land of Disbelief - that a server would say that to a customer--a female--ME!
And he didn't even sound like a donkey.
So here I am, back in the land of the Non-Beach-Dwelling Corn-Fed People, two days before Thanksgiving.
I think I'll have TWO pieces of pie Thursday, in honor of my two biggest cheerleaders. Or maybe think of them ever so fondly when I see turkeys roasting in ovens.
And so here is another post filed under, "I Know You Think I Make This Stuff Up." But I don't. This actually happened ...