I think I’ll write a travel blog. After all, last week I was traveling. Alone.
That’s right, just me and my (not so) little carry on. (You’re all jealous aren’t you?)
I didn’t go anywhere glamorous, but maybe if I started writing a travel blog, I could start going to glamorous places.
Maybe I could make the URL of my travel blog Suburban Mom Dumps Family to Travel to Glamorous Places dot com.
There is a travel blog called Adventurous Kate written by a fabulous 20-something (named Kate, duh) who travels the world solo and writes about it. She made it into her job!
I hate her. I want to be her. Why wasn’t the internet invented when I was 20-something and adventurous?
Since I am not fabulous and
young 20-something and adventurous – wait, that’s not true, I may not be 20-something, but I am fabulous and adventurous. Well, at heart anyway, just not currently in practice… let’s start over…
Since I am not 20-something, if I had a travel blog to write about my travel “adventures” I would probably write something like this…
Last Week I had an early flight to Virginia. I was excited because I was flying Virgin Airlines for the first time and didn’t have to worry about anyone but me. I had a cup of coffee on the way to the airport, but I got there early enough to buy another at Starbucks. (I figured since I got up at 4AM I earned it!)
As I was walking down the long hall to the plane I must have jerked my arm because the coffee came flying out of the cup and right onto my shirt. Crap! I was meeting someone at a restaurant right after I got off the plane. And I HATE having coffee stains (or any stains for that matter) on my shirt.
I HATE IT!
My luck turned around because the flight wasn’t very full and I had a whole row to myself. Score! I like to sit on the aisle because I have to get up at least two or three times on long fights to pee. (Everyone who knows me well is nodding their heads right now.) But I also like to sit at the window so I can see what we’re flying over and lean up against the wall. With the whole row to myself I could do both. Holla!
So as soon as that fasten-seat-belt sign turned itself off I hopped right up and hightailed it to the bathroom. I tried blotting the coffee stain with a wet paper towel and got nowhere. So, since the stain was near the bottom of my shirt, I stuck it under the running water and rubbed some soap on it and rinsed, and rinsed, and rinsed (you would not believe how much you have to rinse to get a tiny bit of soap out) and now had a shirt that had a six inch by six inch sopping wet area. I took a bunch of paper towels and squeezed out the excess water as best I could, buttoned my sweater over the spectacle of it and returned to my
The shirt felt cold on my skin so I put a paper towel between my stomach and my shirt. (That paints a pretty picture doesn’t it?) Then I ate half the sandwich that I brought for breakfast. And blopped avocado on my shirt. Huhhhh (That is the sound of me taking a deep breath and trying not to scream the word SHIT! on a quiet plane.)
I got back up, went to the bathroom and repeated the whole stick-the-bottom-of-my-shirt-under-the-running-water-process. When I got back to my seat I put my Pashmina under my shirt and wrapped it around my shoulders so I would stay warm, but didn’t cover my shirt so it could dry. Thank god I had the whole row to myself and the plane was dark. If I had a seatmate, they’d probably think I was mental.
(Travel tip: always travel with a Pashmina type scarf – so much better than the nasty travel blankets they
always run out of have on the plane.)
A couple hours later I went to the bathroom again (look, I drink a lot of water) and noticed a third stain on my shirt. WTF?! When did I become incapable of wearing a shirt without getting it dirty? I was like a toddler in desperate need of a bib. This time I just took the shirt off and put it in the sink. A bit more soap, a bit more scrubbing, a lot more rinsing, and a lot of paper towels to squeeze it (semi) dry. (I wonder if Adventurous Kate ever used an airline bathroom as her own personal washing machine.)
I know what you’re all thinking – I had a carry on. Why didn’t I just change when I got to the airport? Because I wanted to wear the shirt I was wearing, that’s why. (She says with a foot stomp. See acting like a toddle above!)
I returned to my seat and resumed my classy position of shoving my scarf under (but not on top of) my shirt and around my shoulders. I arrived to my destination with my shirt clean(ish?) and dry. But I don’t think I’ll be ditching my family to write a travel blog any time soon. (Unless you think there might be a market for How To Use An Airline Bathroom As A Washing Machine dot com.)
*Pashmina photo “borrowed” from http://womenclothingtoday.com