And so it begins
Just made the plane at LAX. Simon cross, which seems rather unfair considering I was the one agitating to board when we were leaving Auckland, whereas he was quite unreasonably attached to his comfy seat and craft beer in the Koru lounge. Anyway, I’m feeling much better for a nice shower, even if we did end up cutting things fairly fine. He did say to me, jokingly he probably thought, that I shouldn’t take too long freshening up as he’d be lonely travelling to the UK without me. Which denotes some degree of affection, surely? I should point out at this stage that Simon has never read one of my weekly newsy work emails. He overheard me reading one out to the girls last year, in which I made possibly inflammatory comments regarding the Marsden Mothers Mafia, and he almost had a stroke. He’s clearly not yet ready to accept that side of my personality (bitchy yet humorous), good to know that we have something more to aim for in our marriage even after 20 years. Anyway, i think my shower durations are perfectly acceptable, and certainly about a tenth the length of any of our daughters, but I blame Kirsten C for giving him unrealistic expectations. She was so quick when using the shoilet in our Copenhagen apartment, i don’t know how she managed to get wet, let alone clean.
Our first contretemps occurred before we’d even got into Wellington airport. The oldest daughter was giving us a lift, and hubby and I had a shouting match as to where the official drop off zone was. Of course actually we were both right, but what I needed was acknowledgement that I wasn’t wrong. Being married to someone who is always right can be quite wearing. Anyway, i figure dealing with squabbling passengers in the car will prepare our daughter for hypothetical eventual far in the future grandchildren.
Transiting through LAX is notoriously Hell on Earth, but we managed to get through the whole immigration and security business as smoothly as you could dare to hope. The automatic kiosks recognized our faces and fingerprints with no problems. My photo, even after 12 hours on a plane, was not too bad, if I say so myself. It’s a bit smudged and ghostly, but I quite like it. Simon, however, has ended up with a striking resemblance to Hitler. Ironic, really, as his actual appearance – tall, blonde, blue eyed – is exactly the way the Führer would have wanted to look, had he been given the choice. I took a photo of the pictures actually, which probably breaks a Federal Law or two, and I hope to attach it to this blog, which is probably equally illegal if not more so.
Next stop: London.
