There has to be a travel story, right?

But of course! My flight from Phoenix to Fresno, which actually originated in California, was cancelled at the last minute, the hub system thus stranding me out of the state I'd started and wanted to end up in. Naturally, the hotel where they stashed me for the night had broken air conditioning. In Arizona. Since I like to sleep all year long in frigid temperatures and buried under a thick layer of blankets, the stress and heat was an ideal mix for a sleepless night, or exactly the kind of night you wish to spend before flying off, early in the morning, to arrive several hours late at your one-day meeting. Sigh.

The flight home, however, long, was an exercise in best-case scenario perfection. I was actually afraid that they wouldn't let me on the plane, as I was looking extremely ill and obviously hacking out my lungs. (I learned on this trip that I am absolute asshat with perfect disregard in personally contributing to deteriorating public health, because I am only concerned about spreading pestilence among my loved ones. To the folks that I contaminated: sorry, but I probably caught it from you, so welcome back to the never-ending circle of plague.) Luckily, I was allowed on and even snagged a seat in first class for the long flight back to the east coast. The kindly stewardsfolk kept me supplied with a steady stream of orange juice mixed with ginger ale all through the night. (GOD, I HATE RED EYES.) (Upon reflection, first class, with its limited access to other passengers, ready supply of liquids, shortened wait for the restroom, and cabin full of the people most likely to have easy access to the finest health care on the planet, is an excellent way to travel while ill.) When I got to JFK, my bags were some of the first luggage off the plane and a towncar driver snagged me the moment I walked through the security doors. Ironically, he had to drive me past my original destination on the way to the Long Island airport. (I'd decided to skip family time to avoid spreading disease among my people and fly the extra leg straight home.) (By the way, flying while congested and headachy is pure torture, as the pressure changes feel like they will shatter-squeeze your skull to pieces.) There, Southwest had me on the first flight back home for an extremely reasonable, bought-at-the-airport (first time for everything!) fare. (Air travel really is amazing these days, as you can walk up to the counter and literally go anywhere in the world. Holy cow!) I was met at the airport by the most personal of car services and was whisked home, with a brief stop for some longed-for and most restorative breakfast pho, with a minimum fuss and fanfare.

Later, my sister told me that, knowing my luck, she was amazed that the new and improved travel plans actually came through without a hitch. Believe me, SO WAS I. I am so grateful to the travel gods, for being spared me from their blackest of humor on the most crucial of days.