The Original Breakfast

This morning I flew out of Washington Dulles International Airport heading for Sunny Florida, and Labor Day weekend at my parent’s house with my boyfriend.  The sunrise over the airport was amazing: cobalt blue clouds ripped open to spill the goldenrod rays coming from the waking sun.  And I didn’t even notice the cranberry-red moon setting, and soaking up the darkness like a sponge toy until another passenger of the early morning airport shuttle gaped at it.  I’d only wished I wasn’t too groggy to dig out my iPhone or my camera and snap a photo.

But instead I settled for a sumptuous breakfast at Max and Erma’s at gate B72.

I could hardly expect good food at the airport, having traveled as much as I have, let alone at 6:30 am on a Friday, but it was perfect.  My eggs were fluffy and not too watery, the rye toast was better than I had expected, and my bacon was perfectly crisped.  The glass of apple juice was considerably larger than it looked as my waitress brought it over.  There was even a delicious chunk of watermelon in my fruit cup, and I was a happy traveler.  Until I looked down the booth.

I had been sat at a table at the far end of the restaurant against a wall containing one long booth and several small tables with chairs on the opposite sides.  At the table directly to  my right, a man had been replaced by a woman clearly older than me, but not with enough sense of her own age to stop her wearing leather studded sandals with 3-inch heels on them at 6am.  To her right was an older woman, clearly content with her meal and her fanny pack.  Which, had it been flamingo pink, I might have envied.  The hostess had rudely sat all of the people who were eating alone at adjoining tables.  I could hardly enjoy the peace I had with myself while Miss Thirty-Is-The-New-Twenty sat clicking away on her Blackberry.  I at least had the manners to put down my iPhone and prove I was more civilized.

 It was the first time I was enjoying being alone, relaxing and traveling by myself, and this rude hostess had forced the issue onto my plate.  I stared at the cute boy sitting solo at the bar, and wondered why that idea had never crossed my mind.  Probably because I don’t want to be the kind of girl who eats breakfast on a bar by herself.  That would not be very classy.

On a side note, I did see an adorable rolling suitcase with shoulder straps, and instantly wanted one.  Unfortunately, I didn’t catch the girl with the pink on in time for a photo but here it is in white:


If you know where to get one or anything about this bag, please let me know.  Cheers.


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