Fertilehealthy

We’re home!  We arrived Saturday afternoon at about 5pm, went to sleep at about 8pm and woke up more than 16 hours later!  Late for lunch at my sister’s and totally disorientated.  This evening we went to bed at about 10pm, slept for about 2 hours and are now wide awake.  Craig has to work tomorrow, so he’s going to continue trying to sleep, but I just worry about stupid things when I can’t sleep, so I’m blogging in the dark.

I tell you, traveling is not for poor people.  One should only travel first class or business class.  There’s a reason why they call coach “cattle class” – I felt like a veal calf tethered in a crate for the 18 hours between Cape Town and New York.  Both times.  My dad said that it’s probably more comfortable than the Jews endured in the cattle cars on their way to the concentration camps, to which Craig said “Maybe, but they didn’t have to pay and they didn’t have to come back the same way”.

That’s the kind of thing that passes for humor when the feeling starts returning to your legs on the way home from the airport.

Have you noticed that all airline commercials wax lyrical about their business class seats and service?  None of them even mention the hell that is coach, where the majority (the bread and butter passengers) are confined.  That is because there is absolutely nothing redeeming to say about coach.  Nothing! 

Miraculously our luggage arrived at the same destination that we did, at the same time.  I’m waiting to hear from the good people at Guinness.

Of course, my sunny disposition was further soured on this trip by some physical discomforts.  Remember the sunburn I told you about?  On Thursday my bottom lip burst forth into two enormous oozing blisters.  Over the next few days this has crusted over, burst, bled, and oozed some more.  Fetching, I tell you.  People cover their children’s faces when they see me.

Of course, there’s a deep valley between the two blisters and every time I drink something it spills, dribbles down my chin and soils my shirt.

Then, while walking through Manhattan in a daze (after taking the Red-Eye from Seattle) I developed a huge blister under my left foot.  I have no logical explanation for this…  I was wearing old, comfortable shoes.  Needless to say, we didn’t really get the most out of our New York experience.  Craig was too grumpy from exhaustion and I limped around looking like I had messily feasted on carrion.

Back at the airport we managed to wash up a little and change into fresh clothes before boarding our flight home.  My last Starbucks purchase dotted my chest within minutes…

The air inside a plane on a long distance flight gets really disgusting.  You don’t notice it while breathing, but your hair turns limp and oily within a few hours.  And your skin gets really greasy.  At least you can wash your face, but there’s nothing you can do about your hair.  You arrive on the other side looking like a drug addict.  Add the bleeding lips and it’s little wonder that even the customs people recoil from you.  The guy wanted to look at the shopping bag in which we carried our neck pillows, but I told him that my stinky socks were in there too.  He couldn’t wave us through quickly enough.

All the presents have been distributed, there’s a whole suitcase full of dirty laundry waiting for Sarie tomorrow and soon only the credit card bills will remind us that we were ever there.  Because I’m the worst when it comes to taking pictures…   Sorry!