You know, because Kate Winslet's character packed a lot of stuff. Get it?

This past weekend was Girls’ Relaxation Weekend in Houston. It was marvelous. I highly recommend you plan one.

On Friday, I got to the Pittsburgh Airport and, as is my wont, took my place in line just in front of the most obnoxious man in the terminal. He didn’t dress like a fashion plate and didn’t need a multitude of styling products for his hair; in short, someone who could easily pack light, but he was disgusted with the airline’s “restrictive” baggage policy. He exclaimed loudly, to anyone who would listen, “Only one free bag and it has to be less than 50 pounds! What is that (bleep)?” And then, thinking that we didn’t erupt into hilarity because we hadn’t heard him, he repeated himself in an even louder voice.

“Who are you? Rose Dewitt-Bukater?” I muttered to myself. And by “to myself,” I mean “aloud, to the entire line of people.” The man shot me a look that told me he didn’t get my Titanic reference, but that he knew when he had been insulted. Oh well. I like to discourage people from talking to me when I travel, anyway.

Oh, but then! The man in front of me stepped up to the counter and I heard the airline employee exclaim, “You have 45 letters in your last name!” Now, I am prone to exaggeration, so I just assume everyone else is, too, but then I looked at the check-in screen and the dude really did have 45 letters in his name. It looked like this:

Continental Check-in:
Passenger:
NGKOPASNGIRPANGIROAWBJGSHROAUIVHHBVCALW

And then it went off the edge of the screen. For all I know, there could have been another 20 letters there, but Continental’s technology was simply not equipped to handle monikers of that size.

And then I broke the plane. I have no idea how it happened. The tray table simply came off in my hands and there was no reattaching it. So, when the flight attendant announced that we should pass any trash or unwanted items to the center aisle for disposal, I simply sent my tray table along. The flight attendant said she had never seen anything like it before, and I spent the rest of the flight hoping the contractor who built the tray tables was not the same contractor who built the wings.

I landed safely in Houston and, hallelujah, it was almost chilly. Amanda took me directly out for Mexican food. We perused our menus as I drank my sangria. Amanda turned to me to ask, “What are you getting?” and seeing my “golly, this sangria is strong” look, immediately amended her question to “Trashed?”

The whole weekend was devoted to relaxation. We slept in, watched movies, went swimming, and got massages. I am now trying to re-work my budget so that I can afford a massage every day. If I cut out food and rent, I think I can do it.

Amanda’s roomie Gena and her fried Jen were there and Gena planned an M^cubed evening: Mexican food, Movie, Marble Slab ice cream. The movie was Made of Honor. It was every bit as formulaic and predictable as I imagined it would be, but it was charming in a chick flick way. And just to be 13 for a moment, Kevin McKidd’s dreamy Scottish brogue totally trumps Patrick Dempsey’s fabulous hair. Ascending the stairs in the movie theater, Amanda got her flip flop caught, broke it, and fell on her face. So you see, Chris, we were thinking of you.

It was a fabulous weekend and we need to make it an annual occurrence. Thanks to Amanda and Gena for their hospitality. And before I sign off, here’s a delightful little exchange I witnessed at airport security on my way back home:

TSA Employee: Sir? Sir? Do you speak English?
Japanese man: Si.