Here’s a letter I wrote to my father tonight, once I finally finished packing for our flight home for the Holidays.
I would have been done much sooner with the packing were it not for all of my Faceboo-Kronastinating.
I came up with that neologism while Blo-Gronastinating.
And, I came up with that one while….. Okay. I will stop.
But, you may use my new words should the need arise.
Once the kids were in bed and I could really hit the task of packing all we would need in a cold climate and for weddings and entertainment and snacks medicine and toiletries and everything else we have to stuff into a couple of insufficiently sized bags, I realized I had a problem.
I felt like Tom Hanks in Apollo 13, only the mimicry in my mind was saying “Dallas. We’ve Got a problem.”
So, I thought about how to fix this problem.
And, then I wrote this letter to my father.
I have room for everything except for your Christmas/Anniversary Gift….I’m not saying I’m your secret santa or anything because I may or may NOT be.
But, we live in Cowboys Country so when the kids and I saw this ridiculous thing months ago, we KNEW we HAD to buy it for Papa, the Ultimate Cowboys Fan living in a veritable Sea of Washingtonians.
But, now- with spatial constraints where I must choose between the gifts we must take to bring back home, winter coats, or wedding stuff, I am coming up short.
And, I can’t mail the thing because it requires an irregularly shaped box.
This is not your average, run-of-the-mill foam Ultimate Fan sports finger.
Nope, this thing has a 3D finger that is 8 inches long that towers over the solid and un-bendable foam thumb with the circumference of an orange resting atop a voluminously un-stuffable, un-foldable, obnoxious base.
This thing is very Texan.
So, Dad- Do you know what your daughter is going to do for YOU?
I’m gonna wear this thing home.
I’m gonna put it on my fist, because my shoulders will hold purses and 50 lb carry-ons while dragging overstuffed luggage with my one free hand while hollering at two little kids to keep up while they collapse under the weight of their own over-stuffed carry-ons.
The good news is that I’m pretty sure that it will give me an extended reach so they can at least hold an over-sized blue finger across airport traffic while we dodge other family caravans, busy business people and motorized, beeping go-carts plowing through the aisle-center with conviction to bowl us over like human bowling pins.
But, I’m gonna wear that foam finger, Dad.
I’m gonna wear it through Security.
I’m gonna put it in a bin.
It’s so big it might need to just go on the conveyer belt without a bin, Dad.
So, I’ll put it on the conveyer belt and then I’ll load 15 bins with electronics, shoes, liquid-carry-baggies, carry-ons, purses, and jackets.
I’m gonna watch as TSA scans that thing to make sure that there are no concealed devices or other dangerous items. They’ll bend those surprisingly un-bendy fat fingers to see if they contain anything harmful. And, then they’ll let me on my way, to walk through the airport to our gate.
And, then we’ll get there, and we’ll use that foam finger as a giant, uncomfortable pillow, Dad.
When it’s time to board, I’ll use it to hand the flight attendant our boarding passes between those over-sized knuckles and then we’ll find our seats, while I bop every one of the First Class passengers in the head like dominoes on our way to our seats where the people all around us will pray that the lady with the giant foam finger and two little kids isn’t gonna sit next to them.
Oh, but she IS.
And, then I’ll stuff that giant blue sporty finger into an overhead bin (because it is highly irregularly shaped…did I mention that?). I’ll try to shut it but that finger’s gonna get stuck and so I’ll keep slamming the overhead bin shut as if it worked the first 20 times I tried it. So, then I’ll move someone’s bag and they’ll get mad and tell me to take my finger out of their bin.
Dad, do you see how much I love you, Dad?
And, then….Then, once we’ve finally landed in Redskins Country, after a very arduous flight while I and the kids drooled on this very bumpy and highly un-fluffy Cowboys travel pillow, we’ll de-plane.
We will risk bodily injury, jeers and insults as we scurry to baggage claim wearing this monstrously big thing.
We’ll do this all for you, Dad.
And do you know what is the funniest thing about all of this?
I don’t even know how many points your favorite team scores when they kick that ball through that field post-thingy.
And, folks are gonna think, from Texas to DC, that I am a Cowboys Nerd.
But, I’m not, Dad. Am I?
Here’s the thing.
It’s worth a lot less than USPS, FEDEX, or UPS charges to ship irregularly shaped packages.
And the kids are young enough to still think I’m cool no matter what I do.
And, so here I am.
I’m all packed, Dad.
We’re on our way.
I’ve just gotta unplug the electronics, water the plants, turn off the AC and the lights, set the alarm, lock the door, and put on this gigantic *^&$%^#&* finger.
See you soon!
YOU ARE WELCOME.
For another post about what how traveling by air changes for a lot of us once kids enter the security line, check out:
AND, HOW DID YOU SAVE MONEY ON SHIPPING COSTS THIS SEASON?