Tripping & Traveling

Today was the big day. It's been on the calendar & we've planned around it for months. Man left this morning, heading to Virginia for a 3-week class. It's some Leadership in the WorkPlace class - it's for people with real jobs who bring home a paycheck. Or something like that. What would I know?

I found out last night that he not just going to some Ft. Something-or-Another in Virginia, but specifically the D.C. area. Now, I'm a weenie bit jealous. The Smithsonian. All that yummy ethnic food . . .

But, I'll get over it.

Besides, the girls & I are heading to Germany very soon (Hi, Heather!). Although D.C might trump my Haus & the damn rooster nextdoor (He's obnoxious, isn't he, Coral?), Bavaria definitely trumps D.C. At least as far as we Rockin'Bauers are concerned. Especially, in the ethnic food category.

Anyway, this travel day started like many, many others. Man got up, with the damn rooster, at the butt-crack of dawn & headed down stairs to goof-off on-line & watch TV. He ate 2 PopTarts & kicked back at least one diet Dew. He surfed the net. Maybe checking the weather at his final destination. Probably Maybe looking for another job. He watched a little "news" that's been taped-delayed for us by a mere 7 hours or so. Surfed the net some more.

Eventually, he decided to do the whole shower & get ready bit.

45 minutes after eventually, he finished up with the shower & looked around for clothes to wear.

Then he started to get ansy. Time was tick-tocking away & he still had not packed yet. Or decided what to wear - today OR for the next 21 days.

3 ½ hours after he dragged his butt out of bed, he glanced at the clock. Oh shit! Golly Gee, where did the time go? Man noticed that he had at whopping 17 minutes before his self-imposed deadline for pulling out of the driveway.

He then began to show classic signs of getting pissy. He stomped around the bedroom in his sock feet. Mumbled something about Frau mixing up his blue and black socks again. He threw a pair of gray slacks into his suitcase only to yank them back out again to double check the size. Tossed them back into the suitcase with a big-bad wolf huff because he could not remember what size he currently wears & he didn't have time for this crap.

T-minus 10 minutes rolled around & Man proclaimed that he needs to pack at least one suit-shirt-tie combo. Hopefully, he had the good sense to plan that wardrobe choice around the perfect Double Windor knot I tied for him last month.

I wouldn't know because I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I immediately evacuated the premises, with MiniMe in tow. No one was going to honestly accuse either of us of ignoring the 0940 departure time.

Man finally made it downstairs & loaded the Pilot. He was almost in a full blown pinging fit, complete with cold sweat & elevated BP. It was either that, or he drank 3 diet Dews while goofing off earlier.

We left our Haus at 0950 & Man anxiously watched the dashboard clock - which happens to be perfectly dustfree thankyouverymuch. He doesn't have to tell me, but I know that he has visions of missing his flight dancing in his head. Dolby Digital with THX surround sound.

Traffic was good and we took the exit to the airport at 1000. I know, it's mind boggling. We live next door to damn rooster & his buddy the turkey, but we can be at a busy international airport in 10 minutes. At 1005, we were still waiting in the line to get to the departure drop-off area.

Mans knees started knocking anxiously up against the glove compartment. He was now inside the 2 hour window for an international flight & feared the worst. Damn airport face-lift road construction. He didn't have to tell me, but I knew he was now running down a mental list of what he might have forgotten in his mad rush to pack. Toothbrush? Shaving cream? Undies?

I remind him to calm down. There's plenty of time & we are almost to the drop-off zone. Besides, he was headed to America, the Land of Plenty, where he could get into his rental car, shop 24/7 & swipe the debit card until Kingdom Come. He even had the Tom-Tom to guide him to any number of name brand establishments. So, should his suitcase be short on Fruit of the Loom or the gray pants be on the tight side, there was nothing to worry about.

It's only 1008, Babe, it's O. K.

The original drop-off zone was closed and under construction, so we followed the detour signs & temporary fencing to the new drop-ff area. Man kept nervously glancing at his watch.

About that time (1009 to be exact), we both noticed the "detour" signs. What? Not French? Not Flemish? But English?

Me: Oooohh, get my camera out of my purse!

Man: Uh, no. We. Are. Late.

Me: I have to take a picture of this. I either take a picture while I am driving past or I will have to pull over, get out of the Pilot & walk back. And, as you've casually mentioned, we are running a bit behind.

Man: Oh, fine. Here's your camera

Uh, Kiss & Drive? What's that all about? Isn't that dangerous? Note to self: I should probably make a new Haus Rule about kissing & driving for Laze-E. Wouldn't that be a first? A proactive Haus Rule?

Turns out that Kiss & Drive is what Brussels National calls drop-off parking. Isn't that sweet? Unless you are dropping off the obnoxious visiting relatives 3 days after the welcome was completely worn out.

In that case, we might need to consider:

• Park & Punt
• Drop & Drive
• Fling & Fly
• Bump & Board
• Slow Down & Skeedaddle
• Hug & Hurry
• Off-Load & Accelerate
• Brake & Boogie

Sooo, I pulled into a parking space & watched as Man unloaded his bags. We did the whole smoochy, kiss-kiss, hug get a room thing. Afterall, it was practically manadated by law. And, Man was on his way - with time to spare. His flight actually departed at 1219. Ten minutes late!

Have a safe trip, Babe. I'll hold down the fort while you are gone.

Ich liebe dich. Tschuß!