Las maracas are a-coming

Bush had warned me, the news had warned me, even my mom had warned me… we are in dark and terrorist filled times, you most arrive early to the airport. So early I arrived and the so feared lines of thorough checking finished in less than 20 minutes… it seems orange code has a different meaning in Puerto Rico. Not that I’m complaining about not experiencing the pride of having my baggage open up before everyone so that they can look with envying eyes at my luxurious kmart panties, but you know, waiting 2 hours at the gate is not so much fun neither. Nevermind, I survived and American Airlines rewarded me by not assigning anybody next to me so I had three whole seats to myself. Woopee!!! … but then came American Eagle. I was ushed into a window seat in this teenie tiny plane where I found myself compressed between my neighbor’s big legs, my 2 bags (which didn’t fit in the floor) and the airplane engines, so that all the way I went jumping up and down, more or less contained in my seatbeltless seat by the masses surrounding me, tch tch tchooing my way to San Diego by the inconspicuous maracas I intend to give as a gift to an Indian family I’ll be visiting.