So I get a big fat EPIC FAILURE in both the posting AND tweeting genre for the past several days. Pardon me, but my brain has temporarily vacated the premises and Aunt Flo has set up residence instead, so I've been rather disjointed the past few days.
As I'm packing to go home on Saturday morning (oh yeah, I'm home now), I have my schedule timed out perfectly. Up at 8:55, shower, final packing, leave to be on the subway by 10:30. Get to airport by 11:15. Grab shuttle at airport to another airport in a different state (out of which it's cheaper to fly) about an hour and a half away. Get to airport #2 by 1:30, wait a few hours, board plan at 3:40. Arrive in airport #3 at 5:00. Flight to Texas at 6:40. Arrive in Texas at 10:00. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
Unfortch, I forgot to allow time to grab food in the morning. So I didn't. No food for Nanny until approximately 1:45 p.m. after running (and driving) across a significant chunk of the northeast. Mix in dear Auntie Flo and you've just got an extremely pleasant Nanny. I finally get in airport #2, get right up to security, and notice a bagel place not 10 feet from the end of the security line. I spy a yogurt parfait that looks delicious and buy it and a bagel. YUM. The parfait is an outrageous $6, but I NEED FOOD NOW. Immediately get into security line so I can get through and EAT.
Jewelry off shoes off laptop out of bag purse on conveyer belt small suitcase on conveyer belt food on conveyer belt tickets in hand OKAY. Oh wait. Not so fast.
"HEY," shouts TSA female #1. "I NEED A BAG CHECK."
TSA male grabs my bagel/parfait bag. "I'm checking this," he informs me. I nod in agreement, yeah, sure, fine, whatevs.
TSA female #2 grabs my laptop bag. "What are you hiding in here?" she demands. I reply, "Nothing!" to which she smirks and searches my bag anyway. Of course, it's clean.
TSA male holds up my parfait. "HEY. THIS IS NOT ALLOWED. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO TAKE IT THROUGH SECURITY?"
Uhhhh...since when is yogurt a scary substance? Look, I just want my effing parfait...
He and TSA female #2 confer for a minute. My patience is rapidly decreasing because um, hello, I WANT MY PARFAIT. I NEED my parfait. Nanny needs her protein, here.
"I'm confiscating this," TSA male says.
Of course, thank you Aunt Flo, this for some reason makes me want to bawl.
"But...but...I just paid six dollars for that literally ten feet away!" I whisper. In my sleep-deprived, food-deprived, insanely-hormonal brain, this is the ULTIMATE WORST THING EVER.
TSA male don't care, honey, whether I bought this parfait here or in France. I can either re-pack up everything, go back out of security and past the long line of people to eat it, or have him throw it out.
Reason and logic fight viciously in my brain for thirty seconds before I gesture for him to just throw it out. And then burst into tears.
I cried full-fledged sobbing uncontrollably until I got to my gate. That was a good five minutes of hysteric water works, people. And then I called both my father and D. and proceeded to cry some more. Oh, lord, my poor father having to put up with me on that phone conversation...I think it went something like this:
Him: "What?!? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
And so on.
My father is a saint for dealing with me. Just for the record. And D. was equally as good, but by the time I had blubbered to her I realized just how redonkulous I was being and started laughing at myself. Which I am still doing.
Cause, really, Nanny? A parfait?
Though I did buy another one once through security. And that thing was damn good.
Okay, this post is really long. And I do have more evidence supporting the fact that I have indeed lost my marbles. To be continued...