Forgive Me

It has come to my attention that I may have been rather lax in the blog updating department for the last few months. To everyone who has commented in person, by phone, email, or commented directly on the blog: Thank you for reminding me that my first obligation is to you guys and this blog, not to writer’s block and being pouty. I have abandoned my Devoted Readers for too long and promise to get back on the blogging horse and stay there!

When last we read the blog, I was about to leave for Toronto to see my family. Let me start by pointing out that while we all know that while I love Emirates, 14 hours on any one plane without a break is simply too long unless your husband loves you and lets you upgrade to business. Needless to say I flew economy.

My first adventure started before I’d even made it home. The flight from JFK to Toronto was delayed so long that I ordered a venti, triple shot macchiato and didn’t even think that it tasted too much of espresso. I was that tired. I should point out here that I had awoken on Wednesday around 8 a.m. Nairobi time and by the time they finally announced my flight was going to leave JFK, I had been awake for 48 hours. (In my next life, I want to come back as someone who can sleep in economy. Or better yet, someone who only flies business or first class.)

When I arrived at Pearson, I went to the taxi desk and gave them my name. My mother, who was in Ireland at that moment, had pre-booked a taxi for me. The taxi desk had no idea what I was talking about. Smiling in a polite Canadian way, I went off to find a pay phone so I could call the company to confirm that they really did have my reservation. Of course, since it was almost 2 a.m. and I was four hours late, they weren’t entirely thrilled to hear from me – but they were expecting me.

Happy once again, I dragged my two cases, carryon and purse the kilometer or so to the correct desk where I gave my name. The gentleman at this desk hadn’t heard of me either despite the fact that I had just hung up from speaking with a dispatcher. This was approximately the moment when I lost it.

“I am not an orphan! My mummy ordered a taxi for me! I’ve been awake for 48 hours and I want to go home! I’m not an orphan and I just want to go home!” I wasn’t just hysterical, I was crying and sobbing with huge tears falling down my pathetic face.

At this point, I think the guy at the desk was going to offer to drive me home himself if only to get me out of his airport. Luckily for him, my taxi showed up at just that moment. I would like to point out that I did apologize for having a nervous breakdown and the kind gentleman told me that he understood. Of course, he also looked VERY relieved to know that I was about to leave and he would never have to deal with me again.

By the time I arrived home and had found a key to the front door, I was so overly tired that I couldn’t sleep – so I called Hubby and told him my pathetic story. He laughed at me, as I’m quite certain that you are too. But at that moment it didn’t matter; I went upstairs and tucked myself into a bed in the room with the same baby wallpaper that had been on the walls since before I was born. The world map on the wall was new but as I fell asleep I drew a line from Nairobi to Toronto and smiled - I was home and all the heartaches, tears, and bad airplane food that got me there was worth it.