The lack of sleep I got last night in preparation for this flight to Chicago left me in quite the crotchety mood this morning. Seriously, put me in a trash can and call me Oscar cause I was a mega grouch. It was my fault though. Packing at two a.m. isn't really ideal planning, especially when you have to consider the weather difference. (The high in San Antonio today is 85, and Chicago is colder than a witch's nips.)
My pleasant mood was only heightened upon going through security. A man dressed in a tweed suit was standing in front of me, clearly on a business trip. When the line was moving along, the TSA official asked me to "follow my dad in line." I wanted to shout, "Hey, I'm on a business trip too!" but I didn't. It certainly didn't help my very present complex of looking like a pre-pubescent boy.
Whenever I'm in an airport, I always think people are staring me. "Who's the small child wandering aimlessly around? Poor thing, we should help her find her mummy." Whenever I see their sympathetic stares, I want to wring their little crotchbiscuits and say, "I may be midget size, but I'm an adult." I simultaneously want to ask them to carry my bags because my fetus arms can't heave-ho them into the overhead bin. (Conundrum, bum.)
Due to my lack of slumber and the rude security official, my normal decision-making skills (which are always spot on by the way) were skewed. I wanted to play a joke; it IS April Fool's, dontcha know. This holiday didn't stop simply because I was in an airport. (This is what my sleep-deprived logic was saying anyway.)
So badly I wanted to throw caution to my hind parts and obnoxiously yell down the terminal, "Bomb! Bomb! I've got a bomb between my boobs!" (Granted, it would be a teeny tiny one.) I just want to see how people would react. Would they take this 105 pounder with the baby face as smooth as JLo's buns seriously? Grahm said yes, I said nay. Obviously, I'd say April Fool's before they brought out the Rottweiler to sniff around my hot pocket. I had a grown-up moment (rare) and didn't listen to my Zzz-less brain (#regrets).
Now I'm in my hotel room, cranking up my heater and layering up to face the windy city. Look out, Chicago. This twelve-year-old who has been deprived of a good April Fool's joke is on the loose.