We’re on the plane to San Francisco. It’s been a lovely journey so far, save for the puddle in which Patrick is forced to sit. Two hours into a five hour flight, he spilled his water and it trickled down his crotch. He stood up and from behind the wet spot spread in the triangle of his pants where his ass and thighs meet. He mopped it up as best he could and went to the bathroom to try to minimize the damage in his pants.
I guess Patrick’s dad was right when he said Patrick should pack a change of clothes in his carry-on. We both laughed and shrugged and I exclaimed, “Yay honeymoon!” I don’t think there is much that can deter us from our merriment.
I can’t wait to get to San Francisco. I can’t wait to hear the sound of the gulls near the water and the crash of the waves at the beach. I imagine the crash to be furious and frequent, not the soft lapping, white noise I’m used to in Florida.
Holy Cow! Just a few more hours!