Watching people come and go at the airport is one of life’s perks. Middle Chicken’s flight delay provides the opportunity. New babies, grandparents and returning dads fill the heart. There are long apart kisses and tears. Humanity is a show off at airports every day.
To my right is a couple, neither having just arrived. Perhaps one is preparing to go. They kiss for so long I realize I am staring. I catch myself and twist away hiding my embarrassment. Throughout my visit, the
kissing continues, sometimes with hands caressing back ends. There is only occasional separation of lips. It’s not like in the movies.
A beer bellied short man sports a Trump t-shirt. Having not lobbed an egg since a high school Halloween, I suddenly feel the urge. Instead I give him the stink eye. Really? Emblazoned on your chest is an admission of your misogyny. He wore no wedding ring. There’s a reason for that.
A tutu-clad little girl leaves me wondering when and why we stop wearing them. Imagine talking with clients in lovely, bouncy tule. How happy we would be. And we could hit the club right after work without changing.
Coats and scarves mark the flight from Wisconsin. Green Bay Packer (gag) garb gives them away. Whisked to days of hinterland living leaves no thoughts of missing winter. I’ve already pulled my sweater tight given the too cold AC.
I spy a fabulous navy suit, paired with an ankle strap red pump and a perfect chignon. I remain haunted two days later.
A woman approaches the man sitting next to me. “Hey,” says she. “Hey,” says he. They both wear rings and I am sad if those marriages are to each other. Both need to step up their game.
A woman shuffles along in large cable pink socks. She carries no shoes. Apparently she flies in socks. I am deeply bothered about the bottom of those socks.
A multi-colored hat perches on the bald head of a woman and I wonder if it’s cancer. My heart widens and I pray she is on the side of getting well.
At first I’m not sure but then, yes, that is happening. A man walks along, hand attached to his junk. Constant adjustment appears to be the problem. Please stop. Hint boys: Hands on junk in public is never okay. Why are we still telling you this?
Another t-shirt, again male: Eat, Sleep, Ball. Not a basketball girl, no full appreciation.
I feel a smile spread across my face. I spy her sweet face and my body moves on its own. Arms outstretched I wrapped my middle child in a hug and silently thank God for her safety. Indeed, no matter its myriad forms, the airport is filled with love.
The Duchess Diaries 