Don’t Make Me Fly To Hawaii!!

Our plane landed in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii at 8:02 p.m. last night.

Once again we had cheated death. Mid-Pacific I thought I saw a gnome cutting wires outside on the airplane wing, but it turned out to be my reflection in the window.

Then there was the elderly Asian woman in the row in front of me who kept trying to grab my foot because she was convinced I had tiny, little, hobbled feet that had been bound in the ancient Chinese tradition.

Just as I’d get comfortable, my foot propped on the back of her arm rest, I’d feel her sharp, scrabbling fingernails dig into my tennis shoe molesting the outline of my toes as she yelled, “You have very small foot!”

Then there was the ominous ticking I heard in the lavatory.

Had somebody shat a bomb and flushed it? Perhaps I diffused it with my stealth urine, because we arrived unscathed. Yes our eyeballs were dry, our teeth littered with salty nuts our NORMAL-SIZED feet swollen in our shoes, but we were alive.

And it was worth it. Because this is where we are now:

The pool at my brother’s house.
The kids on the swing in their uncle’s backyard.

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