On the way to Montana, I overheard a couple of them talking and figured out that they were on a fishing holiday, and deduced that the tubes held their poles. I'm still not sure why they couldn't have been checked; they seemed sturdy enough. But at least I knew what they were.
What astonished me was how many of them I saw. It seemed like practically every other person in the airport was lugging one of these tubes, ranging from cheap cardboard tubes to expensive-looking ones of brushed aluminum with built-in handles. And I would swear to you if you asked me that I have never seen these tubes before in an airport... Which confused me most of all.
Is it just that I haven't flown in the summer much? Or is the tube-carrier a recent innovation in the fishing world? Or was that the opening week for some popular places? I don't know. I didn't ask.
I was too busy trying not to get smashed in the face.
I was sortof proud of myself last night. I'm not officially dieting at the moment, though I've promised Kris that when she and Braz get here, I'll be her diet buddy. But what I'm doing right now is attempting to eat sensibly. Scary thought, I know.
So what I did last night was pretty astonishing, for me. I went rummaging through the house looking for a snack. I didn't want the cherry tomatoes or carrots in the fridge, and our place is usually pretty devoid of snack foods... I opened the pantry, and found myself face-to-face with my half-box of Girl Scout peanut butter cookies. I don't know why they hadn't already been eaten.
I pulled the remaining tube out of the box, got myself a can of diet ginger ale (don't make that face - diet Northern Neck beats regular Seagram's any day) and a book, and tromped upstairs to sit on the computer and chat.
Between chatting with K.T., Jeff, Karen, and Kris online and skimming the first chapter of the book, I only ate three cookies. And when I'd eaten the third cookie, I wrapped up the package and didn't touch it again. I was only barely tempted, even!
And then, to make things even better, I'd intended to have some popcorn while I watched Sex and the City on HBO, but it was a re-run of the show I'd seen on Sunday. I thought about making some popcorn anyway and reading a few chapters of the book, but decided no - I should go to bed early, since I've been so exhausted all week.
I'm proud of me.
Word of the Day: sensibility - the emotion or feeling of which a person is capable; refined or excessive sensitiveness in emotion and taste
Is it just like me to go on vacation and come home with a bunch of books, or what?
Actually, I didn't. But I wanted to. I added a few of them to my wishlist, in fact. The book about the Fairy Castle at the Museum of Science and Industry I would've bought, if I'd seen it in the museum gift shop. Jill found it, but not until I was already through the line, and she only found the one copy. And Gramma and Grampa Brooks had a coffee-table book by Guinness Records highlighting every year of the 20th century in news and factoids that I'd have stolen if I could.
The other book I saw in the gift shop at the Montana airport, as I was picking out some huckleberry candy to take with me. (Montana is big on huckleberries. Don't ask.) Soiled Doves: Prostitution in the Old West. I don't want to offend anyone's delicate sensibilities, but I'm fascinated by that kind of thing - not sexually, but culturally. You can learn a lot about a culture by examining its seedier underbelly. But I thought about it, figured Matt would tease me unmercifully, and decided against it. When I sat back down with my little bag of candy, I told him, "I almost bought a book."
He'd been in the gift shop with me for a bit, looking for a magazine. "Soiled Doves?" he asked.
I stared at him. "Well... Yeah."
"I figured that was your kind of book," he laughed.
Well. If he's going to tease me for it anyway, I might as well buy it! Right?
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