We’re currently soaring 38K feet (give or take a few toes) high above middle America en route to Vegas, baby… successfully hooked up with complimentary WiFi. Sweet. We’ve enjoyed a flawless day of travel today, kicked-off with an “Air Beer” at Reagan National. Those of you who know my father, know he’s a big fan of the “Road Beer;” we thusly amended the activity to suit our needs.
Post Air Beer, whilst sitting at the gate in D.C., Ruff lets out an audible, breathy [dramatic?] siiiiiiiiigh.
Pance: “What’s wrong? You nervous?” (Ma & Pa Moseley last flew circa 2000)
Ruff: “Yeah. Nervous. And excited.”
Pance: “Well, excited is good.”
Ruff: “I just don’t want it all to be over.”
Ah, a man after my own heart. Wait, switch that and reverse it. Those of you who know *me,* know I have uttered these very words over the years. I get sad at the beginning of adventures, fore-thinking to the time when they’ll be over. It’s a problem. Now at least you know I come by it honestly.
Mom, on the other hand, is hopped up on Ativan and all toothy grin. Cooool as a cucumber at Christmas. Slightly fascinated with this Ruff keeps poking, “Have you reached a state of euphoria yet?!?” Mom shoots him the hairy eyeball and breaks into ‘Age of Aquarius.’ Hm. We weren’t even halfway to Vegas when the drugs kicked in…