Tuesday, April 05, 2005


In September of my last year in grad school, I finally went to Minneapolis to visit my friend from college. It was my last chance to go before I got married and graduated, and before she graduated (and, as it turns out, gets married), but it caused a bit of a snafu for my sisters and mother who were attempting to plan a surprise bridal shower for me. I remember discussing my weekend schedule with The Husband, and when I mentioned my upcoming travel plans, he looked at me, paused, and said, “Oh, then the weekend after that is your shower?”

This was the first I had heard of the shower. “What shower?” I said. “Are my sisters throwing me a surprise shower?” The Husband blanched. “Well you better call my mom tomorrow, because I already bought my plane ticket, and it’s non-refundable.”

My sisters were a bit exasperated with me for planning a trip so close to my wedding. It was sorted out before any invitations were sent, but they ended up having to tell me about it, because it was just too difficult to plan a surprise bridal shower when the bride lived seven hours away from the shower.

The day of the shower, I ran into Sister #3 and my nephew in the grocery store after church. She was picking up cheese and crackers and the cake, but because her hands were so full, what with the cheese, the crackers, and the child, that I offered to carry the cake. We arrived at my mom’s house, and when my sister-in-law opened the door she saw me bringing my own cake into my bridal shower. She got that expression on her face that has become familiar in her dealings with my family. There is a brief expression of shock and horror, followed by amused resignation at our “relaxed” attitude toward normal niceties.

I didn’t tell you about the actual trip to Minneapolis, though. The Doktah very kindly offered to drive me to and from the airport. Once you get old enough to be responsible for getting yourself to and from the airport, you really appreciate a ride. Nothing beats the airport pickup. Anyway, I called The Doktah when I landed, as we arranged. I said I’d meet her at Arrivals.

I went out and waited for her, but she didn’t show up. She called me, asking, “Where are you? Are you at Arrivals?”

“Yeah!” I said. “I’m standing outside! Where are you? Flash your lights.” She flashed them, but I didn’t see her.

“Describe to me what you see,” she said.

“I told you, I'm at Arrivals! I’m standing right under the US Airways sign where you dropped me off on Saturday, when we arrived at the airport.”

The Doktah sighed. “That’s not Arrivals,” she said. “That’s Departures.”

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