I squeezed my way down the aisle of Flight 532, threading my carryon and myself all the way back to Seat 34B. Flanked by two large young men, I did my best to settle in between them as we sorted out the seatbelts. There is a certain unspoken etiquette here, and we managed nicely. Six hours to Seattle. Just after takeoff, I noticed a small rectangular box in my jacket pocket. What was this? A sweet little box of milk duds! I love milk duds, the creamy chocolate coating with the chewy caramel hiding inside. Two treats in one. A good way to celebrate the beginning of my getaway. Much more satisfying than the 2.5 by 1.25 inch mango bar that the flight attendant would hand out later.
The flight was smooth. I gathered myself after landing and exited the plane, getting some help from a tall, kindly woman who wrestled my suitcase down from the overhead bin. I trotted through the airport to the pickup for the shuttle to the casino where my sister had agreed to pick me up. Don’t ask. All was well.
We found each other and proceeded to Panera so I could grab a salad. It had been a long time since the breakfast sandwich at Dulles. My sister stopped dead in her tracks.
“What is that brown thing on your backside?”
You guessed it. A perfectly circular milk dud, squished beyond recognition, melded to my jeans. I wonder what people were thinking.