I'm Not Drunk Yet, I Swear

My husband and I have never been on an airplane together. Our version of a honeymoon was leaving the 5 month old human who looked like us with his grandmother and staying the night at The Oxford. And getting into the World's Biggest Fight. And me packing my bags and storming out the door. And him dragging me back into the room, packing his bags and storming out. And then a hangover the likes of which you couldn't imagine if you wanted to, which you don't. It wasn't even make up sex in the shower the next day; it was more Oh My God Get The Toxic Vodka Remants Out Of Every Orafice As Fast As Possible.

TMI. Good morning, folks.

He flew once with a child, 1of3 aged 1 year, without me but with, oh yes you guessed it, his mother. I was pregnant with 2of3, not really super hot on the idea of vacation with, oh yes you guessed it, his mother, and even if I'd wanted to go, I could not be spared from work for even one day because really, the world would collapse in on itself and the polar caps would melt and their would be hurricanes and pestilence and tsunamis of armageddonesque proportions if a bunch of ancient men and drunk doctors didn't get their corned beef hash and eggs by 7:30 am, stat.

I guess I should have just gone, huh?

I have flown internationally multiple times with three children. I have flown domestically with them more times than I can count. Today, I was going to secretly slide the ticketing dude a $50 and a nipple-flash to put me in first class so that The Donor would have to do the whole flight to LA by himself with the kids. The flight tomorrow to Mexico wouldn't work because his sister is coming and she's a Virgo. This whole thing will be orchestrated like the Boston Philharmonic.

And then I had to take a meeting. In LA. With my boss' boss. Like, the dude who writes the paycheck I am about to blow on fast woman and the drink crappy souveniers. So I left the house at 4 this morning to hit the airport and buy my way onto an earlier flight to LA for this meeting. And I wore a seriously low cut shirt. I could use a raise.

That means that my husband's first flight alone with children, ever, will be today. On our way to Mexico. Neener Neener. Of course, I currently have in my possession everyone's luggage, all the presents we have to bring, 18 mini bottles of Axe body spray and Axe shampoo and Axe deodorant and you can judge me all you want, but Axe sells because it is slightly more pleasing in fragrance than a pubescent boy, and it's the only thing strong enough to drown that unholy smell out. Well, except Mexican tequila, but we'll get to that later.

I've also left him with nice neat piles of passports and permits and consent letters and flight schedules, the kids clothes for today laid out, and all of the instructions everyone will need in my absence written out and signed with a heart and a little slice of love. Because I like to overestimate my importance in the household, that's why. I'm like a dominatrix, only in fleece with a Dyson.

The Dyson gets less us than the whip would, for the record. But fuck me, it's dead sexy.

Anyway, this plane is getting ready to take off and I've only had three hours of sleep, like you couldn't have guessed that already, so I leave you with this in case you want to pretend you're my kid or my housesitter today, because I like to overestimate my importance in the internetowebosphere, that's why, and bid you all a fond farewell. I'm going to go drink all the tequila now.

The really, truly despise me.

He'll never look me in the eye again