One divorcee’s first Christmas alone turns into an adventure. She pulls out all stops and lives a dream. Creative and funny, she discovered the way to stay so busy, she’d not miss her family.
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I love to fly. The adrenaline rush as a jet revs up its engine has always titillated me. I know, the sexual connotations are strange, but the rush is very similar for me. Why not spend the whole day flying? I’d have my day filled with something I considered the best of the best, and it would take my mind off my loneliness. And what day of the year would airfares be at their cheapest? No one would fly because everyone would be busy with family and businesses would come to a grinding halt. Christmas Day of course!
Sure enough, the rates were within my range, on my limited income, to purchase a round trip ticket from Mobile to La Guardia Airport in New York City. I picked that location because I calculated it would fill the entire day with flying, airports, and chasing connecting flights. I logged on to the Internet and purchased my ticket.
The requirement that I needed to be there two hours early for security worked perfectly in my plans to save my sanity. I arose at six o’clock in the morning; then I drove my truck to the post office across from the airport and parked it. Too chintzy to pay parking, I knew the post office parking lot would be empty.
It was a peculiar flight from the start. First, when I went through security, I’d forgotten that my little sterling silver pocketknife was in one of the zipper compartments of my purse. Of course, X-ray picked it up, and since I had no luggage to check, that was a terrorist red flag. I also have dark hair, but my fair skin and blue eyes saved me. Security yanked me out of line, not roughly, but quickly. As soon as the X-ray machine picked up the knife, the stir amongst airport security entertained a grand total of five passengers at my expense.
Another cardinal rule of flying that flagged me as a suspect was that my round-trip ticket had me leaving and returning on the same day. Hmm, now why would anyone do that? It must have been my sugar dripping Southern drawl that convinced them I was just a kook and not a terrorist. After a thorough search, they let me buy a stamp, and handed me an envelope to mail my knife back to myself, I guess because they saw it was dainty but was useless due to its size and dullness. Of course, once I left and returned from my postal run, I had to go back through security. They checked me again, just in case. With so few people flying, they recognized that I was the kook.
When the jet taxied out, anticipation of the takeoff was almost like a sexual high for me, especially since anything orgasmic was something I’d done without during the past year. As we took off, I felt my cheeks loosen into a grin and knew I’d done the right thing by blowing so much money.