So last Tuesday, we’re in line to check bags at the Frontier counter in the Cancun airport and TG looks down at the black duffle bag I’m rolling behind me as she says:
“Hey, aren’t you worried about your pot in that bag?”
My first inclination is to exclaim in an overloud voice:
“Lady, I don’t know who the hell you are or what the hell you are talking about but you need to move away from me NOW!”
My second inclination was to just pretend I didn’t hear her and take a few steps away from her.
My third inclination was to announce: “I have NEVER seen this person before in my life!”
But I resisted the urge and raised my eyebrows to a theatrical height into my hairline and gave TG a hard WTF stare hoping she would stop talking. However, she misread “The Look”.
“You know that pot you bought in Merida, is it gonna be ok in the suitcase?”
The only thing that would have made her question even more incriminating would be if she added–to aid my “bad” memory–something about the young guy on the street who was selling the pot. Remember, I ain’t afraid of no drug cartel. I am however afraid of customs officials and having to call my father because my stay in Mexico could be extended because the nice young man with Frontier Airlines pictured this:
I bet all y’all want to know how I ultimately handled the situation.
“TG, are talking about my vase that is nestled in the middle of our dirty chothes? It will be fine, it’s packed very carefully and won’t break.”
And yes, I said it in a loud-ish voice. I think she thinks she owes me after I tried to pet the cute little beagle a couple of years ago as we were waiting to have our luggage x-rayed before we left the Cancun airport.
I never claimed to be terribly bright.