Rest...aurant or Rest...room?

We were on five planes for this trip:

Denver to Dallas

Dallas to Paris

Rome to Chicago

Chicago to Chicago

Chicago to Denver

WHY, you may ask, did we take a plane from Chicago to Chicago? Well, we didn’t actually FLY from Chicago to Chicago, but we did have to deplane, after sitting on the tarmac for a while, and board a different plane because of an air-conditioner problem.

Denver to Dallas was fine – it was just like any other domestic flight I’ve taken.

Dallas to Paris seemed like the longest, most tedious activity I’ve ever endured (not counting my marriage – hey! I'll be here all week!). The flight was 9.5 hours or so, and just when I thought we were there, the screen flashed an update that we were HALFWAY there. Good lord. So of course, I started singing Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” song to myself because there’s no other song I can think of that uses the phrase, “Whoa! We’re halfway there!” What a terrible song. Well, I suppose I could have referenced Kenny Loggins’ “Meet Me Halfway”, but that’s even worse than Jon Bon.

Rome to Chicago seemed years shorter than D to P… not sure why. There was a dude next to me whose mission, apparently, was to get all f’d up on high-quality plane liquor. Every time the flight attendant offered a drink, his response was, “I need some booze!” He farted the whole ride home.

Chicago to Denver was memorable because:

1. the first half of the flight featured the most lightning I’ve ever seen
2. the second half of the flight featured me passing out from sheer exhaustion, which was undeniably facilitated by my consumption of a small portion of the World’s Worst Food at the airport Chili’s. I will never go to Chili’s again, mostly because their food reminds me of a giant toilet.