There's No Place Like Home

Here I am in Tampa Airport, clicking my shoes and saying, "There's no place like home." My shoes let me down, and I was forced to get on an airplane instead.

Other than the normal indignities of travel, all was well. When I was going through security, there was a soccer Mom type who had been pulled aside and I couldn't believe my eyes. They smoothed down her entire body, including the underneath area of her boobs (with the back of the hand, as if that makes it better) and up between her legs. Honestly, I found it quite invasive, and I said something to her when it was over like "that was quite a pat down" and she cheerfully said, "After three babies, you can do anything to me." Wow, too bad you're in an airport, lady, and not in a doctor's office. I don't want to seem too rabble rousing, but I find it somewhat alarming how quickly we are willing to submit to anything.

As for me, the only incident was this old lady getting up in the row behind me. I was in half-sleep/half-awake with my head back. She pulled herself up, holding on to the back of my seat at which time she practically yanked my hair out of my head. Totally oblivious as she toddles off to the restroom.

However much I bitch, moan, complain, kvetch, etc., I do know how lucky I am. I returned to a gleaming apartment with clean sheets on the bed as well as my garden totally cleaned with the cushions on the furniture and everything ready for planting. Ana had been here today, and Ray (the handyman) came sometime during the week.

There is no place like home, and I'm glad to be here.