Thurs. June 11, 2015:
We had the saddest breakfast ever, because it was our last one together for a long time. Plus we were all tired from staying up so late. The only way to cheer up was for us to wear our chicken hats, with the bachelorette cowboy hats on top of them. Needless to say, we turned a lot of heads in the airport. One lady correctly identified it as a hen party. After taking ridiculously silly photos, we took a few normal non-hat-wearing ones. We left our chicken hats strewn about, including one atop a TSA warning sign. Marianne’s chicken was flopped on its side, it looked hung-over, and especially because of the tiny cowboy hat it was wearing.
The US safety screening was gruff, everyone was grumpy and people in the other lines did not understand how it fully worked. I had to get patted down because of the rhinestones on the chest of my tank top. The lady did not seem amused. The airport did not have a Dunkin’ Donuts, so I had to settle for Starbucks. I was tempted to get something fancy, but it was too early in the morning. We still had half an hour before boarding, so we took turns browsing the duty-free shop. I ended up getting a bottle of Canadian Club for way cheaper than in Canada.
When we tried to board there was a problem with mine and Camilla’s boarding passes. Apparently at security check-in they had put us under the same name. Such are the perils of traveling with someone who has the same last name. The lady at security check-in had been distracting by trying to pronounce my last name, and laughing at it when I said it correctly.
We were so close to home, 10 minutes away from landing and for some reason the pilot decided to take a detour to Markham. We were never told what was going on, but it was a stressful 15 minutes of “what is the pilot doing?! What is going on?!” coupled with turbulence. Leaving the airport, the lack of humidity was stark and jarring. I had become used to it.