Auntie C. did give Arianna numerous tutorials on what not to do, and these lessons were based entirely on airport/airplane/air travel no-no's that she herself had performed. So. Why exactly was I entrusting offspring #2 to her? Do I love pain? Anxiety? Suspense? Uncertainty?
It should have been stupidly straightforward. Three adults, one teen-aged daughter of mine. Fly to Toronto. Go through customs. Continue on to Munich.
One of the aunties had booked her flights herself. And having gotten caught up in the excitement and group dynamic of flying with her gene pool, she kind of forgot that the flight she booked to Toronto kind of left a few hours earlier than 3:30. Which is the flight that Jane, her cousin, and her other auntie were booked on.
It went something like this:
Jane proceeds to baggage check with her world travelling auntie.
We watch from the eaves; unconcerned. Nonplussed. Jane-jane is, after all, travelling with three competent adults, none of whom are exactly wet behind the ears. We chit chat, shoot the breeze, and imagine life at home with only two kids.
It's taking kind of long.
"Kath-" she calls out, all casual like.
"Did you happen to print out my itinerary? They can't find me in the system".
I start to pay attention.
A few minutes later, it all becomes clear.
Her flight left hours ago.
This particular flight is full.
There are not all that many daily flights that travel to Munich out of Toronto.
She's sort of looking up-the-creek-esque. Without a paddle.
Around about this time, I remember who it was that we trusted to escort offspring #1 home from Europe. Yup. A certain fifteen year old who is having way too many mature experiences as of late. If she has to fly internationally alone again, I will be looking for blood.
Well, that sister of mine didn't have a horseshoe surgically implanted for nothing.
At literally the last minute, she got on the flight stand-by.
Which means she could make her next flight.
And all the flights home with our kid. (I hope she doesn't misplace her or anything...)
Hasta La Vista all over again.
I of course, have committed in my mind to lock up my remaining children in the basement until they are at least 31 years old. It's going to take me at least that long to look through my entire family history.
Looking for a long lost relative by the name of