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 At the table directly to my right, a man had been replaced by a woman clearly older than me, but not with enough sense of her own age to stop her wearing leather studded sandals with 3-inch heels on them at 6am.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.