I am old

In thought, blogging while on vacation sounded like a brilliant idea. However, the computer situation at the resort didn’t cooperate with my brilliance. With only two computers on the property with internet and a 15 minute time limit per guest, it wasn’t feasible.

Something happened on the trip home yesterday that has changed me. I got old.

The flight from Cancun to Denver is 4 hours, give or take. It started out beautifully, with window seat 20A and gray clouds over Cancun (which made it easier to leave. Who wants to leave when it is 85 and sunny?). There were only 3 or 4 open seats on the flight. The gods of the Friendly Skies smiled on me and one of the vacant seats was 20B. Mister 20C was pleasant, but not chatty, I had a good book, a nutrition bar and 4 hours to nap or read or watch a movie…this was a perfect flight.
Let me point out that just 8 days earlier I had this in reverse….except I was sitting in first class, sipping my “free” wine, eating giant shrimp on a bed of greens off of a real china plate and wiping my hands with the hot washcloths they hand you with little silver tongs. So perhaps the flight home wasn’t PERFECT, but it was as good as one can when having to travel as the working class does.
Approximately two-thirds through the flight, after a nice nap, I realized my legs felt very strange. Rotating my feet and stomping them a bit, it becomes quite clear they weren’t asleep. Well, I looked down and there attached to my leg, below my knee; someone had replaced my own leg with that of an elephant! You know that look, just one diameter from knee to foot?! I kid you not….my ankles had swollen to like twice their normal size! You have seen the old woman whose purple bulging ankles hang over the sides of her pink Keds? Well that was me…..except nicely tanned, in flip flops with a great pedicure. The whole thing freaked me out a bit. I spent the next hour of the flight appearing to have a serious tic, as I moved my legs and spelled the alphabet with my feet to get the blood flowing again. I am sure my seat mate was pretending to take a nap to keep from smacking me. Thank God 20B didn’t make the flight.
In Denver, I had 80 minutes between flights. It sounds like a luxurious amount of time. You would think there was plenty of time for a glass of wine, some shopping, and a trip to the ladies room? OH no. First off all, I decided to hell with those moving sidewalks, I was going to walk briskly and get my real legs back….no one told me it was 4 miles, but I walked every step. I was not going to succumb to a day of living with cankles. So, in my rubber flip flops (those black and clear ones that are $3.78 at the ABC stores in Hawaii….only the most awesome flip flops known to woman kind. If you are heading to Hawaii, please let me know, cuz I need a new pair.), I took off for customs. When I arrived, there was no line! Sweet! I breezed on up to the counter, smiled at the agent, glanced at his nametag and said, “Well, hello Mr. Brown, how are you today?” I am not sure how in all of my travel preparations I failed to read that chapter on DO NOT SPEAK TO THE CUSTOMS AGENT UNLESS SPOKEN TO. Mister Brown was not happy nor the least bit friendly. (I honestly stood there wondering if he even laughed at The Hangover.) He asked me a bunch of questions about where I was, what I brought back and if I had been there with anyone. (yikes, do I look like I have a Mexican lover?) When I answered “No”, he looked and me and replied, I swear this is a quote, “That didn’t really sound like a NO”. I was sure he knew that I had one Cuban cigar in my sunglasses case at that point and was trying to break me. Sweating, I explained that I met a group down there for my sister’s wedding, but was traveling alone (in my mind screaming………..YES, I have an outlawed Cuban cigar hiding behind the 60 pesos, 7 receipts and my new killer Diane Von Furstenberg sunglasses. Please don’t send me to prison!). He glared right through my soul and without a trace of emotion said “welcome back to the US”. Whew.
I grabbed my bag and headed to security where I encountered half of the US and part of Europe trying to get through security. This is President’s Day weekend, I understand, but come on! This was worse than trying to get onto The Matterhorn in July. It took me a good 30 minutes to get to the front of the line. There was a sign there that shows how to be prepared for security. I want you to note that I fell into “Traveling Expert”. HA. Ready….liquids in ziplock, items laid flat in bin, shoes off, pockets empty, even remembered to take my bracelets off since they set off the beeper door thingy. I had 4 minutes until boarding, but things were moving along. My bag disappeared into the x-ray machine and stopped. The man, who was a dead ringer for the man behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz, smiled at me and asked me to step to the table, as I have been randomly chosen to be searched. Great. 3 minutes. He was pleasant and kept calling me “dear” and explained every step of what he needed to do. Luckily they found no random traces of explosives on my bag. When he finished I ran to the shuttle train to take the short ride to Concourse B.
Having barely recovered from the shock of elephant leg, I walked onto the shuttle leaned against the rail near the back of the train. There was a young couple sitting in the back seats who smiled at me, and a handsome, slightly graying man standing across from me. I saw the young couple whispering, and in my naivety was thinking how cute young love is. Until they looked at me and OFFERED ME THEIR SEATS! The man across from me smiled and asked if I wanted to sit. Like they are were in agreement that the winded OLD LADY with the freakishly large ankles needs to sit.

I hate Denver.