Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Dust Pan; A Word

I jet-set myself to "The Good Life" for a few days at the end of February. And despite the temperature never raising above 25˚, it was filled with warm memories.

One of the many missions of this trip was do to a little wedding planning. I started my trip by flying home my wedding dress, so it can readily be in Omaha, where we're tying the knot.

I had a lot of fun carrying this on, as many inquired and tried to guess my reason for a fancy dress. As I boarded the flight, I couldn't help but notice the small plane, one of my un-favorite things. Alas, I found my seat and hunkered down for the last leg of my travels.

 Just as I was dozing off, the pilot came over the sounds system.

"We're sorry folks, but it looks like the plane is too heavy. We're going to have to ask someone to deplane."

Every single passenger was crossing their fingers that they wouldn't be the fatty to lighten the load.

I'm not sure how they came to this decision, but the flight attendant escorted a man off, while everyone pity clapped him. Thankfully, he was not an overweight human, hopefully restoring any insecurities had.

A few concerns..

How is it that one man, weighing - I would guess - around 200 lbs, is going to make enough of a difference for the weight of our load. In this instance, I might feel better asking a few people to deplane, as I nervously sweat during take-off, wondering if we'd even make it off the ground.

However, I safely made it to Omaha, one 200 lb man short.

Once in Nebraska, I scheduled a few wedding-related appointments during my time, which included the florist, food tasting, and mapping out the reception with the coordinator.

When I first encountered this man, we'll call him Frank for anonymity's sake, I kept my true colors on the down low, like I do with most folks. And because I was with my sister, it needed to be mostly black and white colors.

It wasn't until we climbed into his car to test some menu items that the ballgame changed.

For starters, he had a case of Fireball in his backseat.

A case.

As proud tears filled my eyes and I fought the urge to slow clap, he turned the ignition, brushing off his backseat treasure.

My ears were blasted with Fifth Harmony.

If you aren't sure who Fifth Harmony is, take a moment and use your Google search engine. Now you can laugh.

He clumsily blamed his teenage daughter as Rachel and I replied with an unbelievable, "sure."

It was at this point, we let the spectrum of ROYGBIV loose. Our true colors were out. And as we passed our old stomping grounds, the Tip Top Apartments, I mentioned how we are never allowed back, but made a clean getaway due to Blake's charm on our former landlord.

Rachel further explained, "Yeah, the landlady told Blake she liked him and was, therefore, willing to put up with his trashy girlfriend."

Frank laughed just a little too hard at that one.

He might think I'm trashy, but I've got that Fifth Harmony crap to hold over him. This wedding day ought to be interesting.

Here are some photos to prove my memories. 

Thanks for soundin' down.


P.S. Dust pan, a word.