I’ll tell ya…there are few things that feel as wonderful in this world as descending the elevator in the Manchester airport and seeing my American Boy, looking anxious and excited, waiting for me. I still get a spinning ball of excitement in the pit of my stomach when I think about it. And in some ways, it is my favorite part.

Walking across the small airport that I am now so comfortable within, teasing Don about parking in No Man’s Land, knowing that our two weeks together were just beginning and that there were nothing but possibilities ahead of us…those are all close seconds.

But that descent. I make it over and over again in my mind.

My day had started at roughly three o’clock in the morning. My almost-brother-in-law had set the alarm for me and placed it far away from the sectional I was crashing on in my sister’s apartment so that I would actually have to get up to turn it off. I didn’t pee before I went to bed that night, way later than I should have but dammit, I don’t have chances to hang out with my sister like that very often and I didn’t want to waste it all sleeping, so that my bladder would wake me up if I happened to sleep past the annoying buzzing and beeping of the alarm across the room.

I didn’t miss it. I was up and at ‘em by three o’clock, ready to start the next leg of the adventure.

I have a real knack for getting the nicest cab drivers whenever I leave my sister’s and head for the airport. This guy in particular was super friendly. We talked about vacations, his night shift, road trips and how four o’clock in the morning was actually one of the busiest times of day to be taking a cab. He dropped me off right in front of the Air Canada door and wished me a good trip.

I wished him a good morning’s sleep.

I self-checked in. I was only carrying on, all of my liquids tucked away in the pin-up girl bag in my sister’s office. I didn’t want to chance losing luggage again.

I made my way through security.

And then I sat and waited.

And then I boarded.

And then we landed.

And no matter how much time you have in between connecting flights, once you get to that damn customs line, your heart seems to speed up a bit and your eyes can’t help but constantly glance down at your watch. It’s just inevitable. I gave a little shout out to my angels and asked to be moved to the front of the line in fifteen minute’s time. As always, they listened and I stood in front of a custom’s official fourteen minutes later.

I made my way through security.

And then I sat and waited.

I sat next to a woman in a huge, lime green top. She was the type of person who is just waiting for someone to talk to. It doesn’t even matter who it is, let alone if they’re interested in what she has to say. And of course, janetk here has a glowing sign on her forehead that says, “I WANT TO HEAR YOUR LIFE STORY” so the jig was up the moment I sat down.

She asked me where I was flying to. I told her. Turns out we were going to the same place! Well, fancy that! She told me about how she was supposed to fly to New Hampshire the night before but the flight had been cancelled because there were only two passengers. My heart did a little flip because I had originally wanted to fly out the night before, too, but the price difference between tickets had been too much to ignore. She was nervous about the possibility of that morning’s flight also being cancelled. I assured her they wouldn’t…it was the only flight to Manchester that day.

Then she told me about her business (jewellery making) and singing and her family and why she was in Canada (she had been doing some kind of business in Edmonton) and her stay in Toronto and her hotel and getting held up at security because of her jewellery making tools and why Canada should have more rotaries and how she lived in London when she was a teenager and how her children are all grown and now she’s not late for everything and how the cab was late that morning. I tried to say as little as possible. I just wanted to drink my iced tea and read about Sarah Jessica Parker. I’d been up since three o’clock, after all! I didn’t want to be friendly.

And then she said something I couldn’t ignore or politely pass off….

“I think you’re going to notice a big difference in the weather there.”

“Really?” I said. “Their weather seems to be about par to ours, at least right now…”

“Oh no!” she said. “When I left Edmonton yesterday, the weather forecast said it was only going to be thirty four degrees!”

As you can probably guess, this Canadian girl pooped a wee little bit her in boy shorts.

“That’s Celsius”, I said.

“What?”

“Celsius! We go by Celsius, not Fahrenheit. Thirty four degrees is pretty hot.”

“Oh.”

All I’d like to know is how you can spend a few weeks in Canada and have it NOT be your first trip there and not figure out that we don’t live in fucking igloos in June and that the temperature was not going to drop that dramatically but I’ll save you the rant, I really will.

She continued to chatter and natter at me the whole time we were waiting and the whole time we were walking to the baby plane. I was terrified of her sitting behind me or next to me during the flight. I had some serious hair fixing to do, after all, in between reading about the Sex and the City movie. Important stuff, you know!

She asked me why I was going to Manchester and I told her.

“Boyfriend?” she asked. “I’m sorry, but I thought I heard you say something about a husband earlier.”

That’s when the genius finally hit me.

“Right.” I said. “I’m having an affair.”

And so, the flight was chatter-free and I didn’t have to sit next to anyone and I could fix my hair and read my magazine and feel like I was in Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood’s land of make-believe as I stared out the window at the tiny cars and yards and houses. Lime green lady latched herself onto an unsuspecting, wholesome looking family flying to Manchester, instead.

I just wish I had thought to say it sooner.