If I told you how shiteous our trip down to Florida was for spring break, I honestly don’t think you’d believe me. We totally gave the Griswolds a run for their money and then some. Cause let me just tell ya, when it rains in the Nucking Futs Family, it friggin’ monsoons, people.
It started out with my husband dumping over half his coffee in my son’s seat on our first airplane of the day. This was soon followed by my daughter’s infamous motion sickness, which I was luckily able to catch in a barf bag. (You’re welcome, United.) The fun continued from there as we bolted through two different terminals, only to miss our connecting flight at La Guardia. And by this point? The f-bombs, they were a-surfacing.
We were then informed that we would have to be redirected up north to Detroit where we would have a lovely three-hour layover. It’s amazing how entertaining an escalator and a moving walkway can be when you’re seven years old. Unfortunately, though, that only lasts for so long before the inevitable whining sets in. Luckily, we were informed that two of us would be able to sit in FIRST CLASS for this next flight. Granted, it was a fight to win those seats, but the daughter and I earned the rights.
But when we made our way onto the plane and got situated in our comfy front-of-the-plane seats, we were told that one of us had been incorrectly assigned. Talk about a freaking kick in the ass! So, much to my dismay, we had to stick our tails between our legs, gather up all our crap, and move back to the sardine section. My salvation of endless glasses of wine was evidently just a pipe dream.
After some rather choice words with the ticket counter, my husband was informed that only one of us could sit up in the laps of luxury, and considering that my daughter had literally attached herself to my hip, it was determined that I would not be the one. So the kids and I reluctantly set up shop in coach while my husband settled into his ginormous seat at the front of the plane. We weren’t even thirty minutes into the flight before my daughter, without any warning whatsoever, projectile puked ALL OVER the place. I had absolutely no time to even attempt to try to catch it.
I immediately began pushing the hell out of the call button to begin the clean-up process before the poor surrounding passengers got a whiff of what was sure to instill a riot. Three flight attendants rushed to our aisle and helped as best they could to clear at least somewhat of the area. However, considering that my daughter was basically sitting in a pool of puke, it was a bit of a hopeless effort. And knowing that my husband was sprawled out in first class completely oblivious to the shitstorm going down only added more fuel to my fire.
The next two and a half hours were thankfully less eventful, but the smell of barf sure did linger in the air. My husband was finally informed about the “incident” and very wisely delivered multiple glasses of wine to my seat. By the time we finally landed in Florida, we were all ready to get the hell outta dodge. My poor daughter, however, had to stay in her vomit-soaked clothes until 11:30 p.m. since our luggage had been stuck in New York. And would you even believe the child upchucked two more times on the car ride to my mother-in-law’s??!! It was truly a nightmare of a traveling experience.
Needless to say, I’m pretty much DREADING the return trip home. I may just go ahead and wrap her head to toe in Saran Wrap to prepare for the chaos that’s sure to ensue. And if anyone’s offered a first class seat on that flight? Well, you can bet your ass that it’s a-gonna-be-me!!!!