We sat at our gate and stared ahead for a while, a bit like the living dead, since we'd gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before. Then it dawned on us that we'd be sitting for two straight hours in our next plane, so we decided to walk around.
We literally meandered through the airport. Now, this airport was full of hot messes. Because of the absurd weather problem, planes were off schedule, and everywhere we looked were sweaty people running in business suits and other inappropriate attire, dropping f-bombs and and other exclamations of anger and distress. In fact, if f-bombs were as frowned upon as real bombs, almost the entire airport would have been arrested and interrogated.
Enter Greg and me leisurely strolling around with half of our brains working, meaning we had one solid brain between the two of us. At one point I asked him, "why is this airport so crazy?" after the 30th person attempted to walk through me while casting a look evidently meant to murder me with her eyes.
Finally, we landed at Wendy's and decided to grab some grub before heading back. First, I got a Sprite this big:
I think soda is gross, but I was still nauseous from the previous flight, and that never bodes well for the next one. Soda helps, but seriously, I had no idea how unnecessarily large a large soda is.
But the soda sparked a memory, and I asked Greg,
"Do you remember that time we flew when I was pregnant, and you went to order me a Frosty from that airport Wendy's?
"And do you remember how it was autumn, and they had this new Apples and Cinnamon Frosty, and I really wanted to try one?"
"And they took forever, and you got back just in time for us to board, and you didn't have a Frosty because they were out of that kind, but you had a chicken sandwich for yourself even though you'd already eaten dinner, and I started FREAKING OUT?"
"Mmm hmm," he murmured.
"Haha! I don't know what got into me! Hormones, I guess," I laughed, shaking my head as I remembered turning into something out of a scary movie. "But ... I mean ... you did know we had to board, and there were other kinds of Frosties," I said, starting to feel an actual twinge of annoyance again. "Yeah, I still don't know what you were thinking."
"I don't know either, to be honest," he admitted. "But! I got one for you in the end, didn't I?"
"Yeah ... I never figured out how you did that. The Wendy's line was so long," I recalled.
"Oh, I'll tell you how: I ran as fast as I could back to that Wendy's and shouted desperately at everyone, 'My wife wanted a Frosty and I didn't get her one and she's pregnant and we have to get on the plane right now!!'"
"Ha! What? You did? What did everyone say? Did they look at you weird?" I wondered.
"No way, they were all like, 'Oh yeah, man, go ahead, go ahead!'"
I laughed and pictured the line parting like the red sea to help the frantic man who was about to board a plane with a seething, hungry pregnant woman.
Then I apologized.
It was around this time that we came out of our jet lag stupor and realized that our current plane, on the other side of the airport, was boarding in ten minutes. We took off down the terminal with our luggage and Wendy's bags, two more hot messes dodging slower passengers and running down the moving walkways.
At one point we got stuck behind some leisurely walkers, and when we finally passed them, Greg asked me, "Why is this airport so crazy? Wait ... was that exactly what we were doing to other people an hour ago?"
"Yeah!" I said breathlessly.
"Wow, we were annoying."