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Yes, I’m with THOSE Dads.

14 Oct

So day one of the great Father-Daughter Adventure is finished. And “adventure” is putting it lightly…

First, there was the 3:45 a.m. wake-up call. I’ll admit that getting home the night before was entirely my fault…BUT STILL. No one is that cheerful before 4, Dad.

Then there was plane número uno. Everything was going quite well, minus the Asian couples who each had millions of carry on bags and didn’t understand that they all had to be in an overhead bin or under a seat…And let’s not forget the guy in the hazmat suit who came rushing down the aisle with a bucket of blue goo because the bathroom wasn’t working. Awesome.

I give major props to the woman sitting behind me who tried to order a mimosa at 5:30 a.m. It was five o’clock, right?

Now for plane number two. We had the most super cheerful flight attendant, who came around with champagne and mimosas as soon as we boarded the plane. Me, being smart, happily accepted.

But not those dads. They, turned down champagne, asking for the hard stuff. “Not until we are in the air” was the response. “In the air” turned out to be 30-plus minutes later. Jealous of my champagne? Rookie mistake, Dad.

But let’s get to the “in the air” part. My dad, being efficient playing catch-up, asks our other cheery flight attendant for doubles. The attendant happily brings over multiple airplane bottles and extra tonic…at this point, the daughters just look at the two dads…yes, we’re with those two. This pattern continued throughout the flight. It also involved moments of my dad getting up to fetch his own ice from the kitchen…and so on.

Did I mention this was all before noon?

Also, since when are passengers from steerage coach allowed to use the first-class bathroom? Flight attendants were falling down on the job. (Probably too busy herding cats who were in the galley trying to get their own ice…)

Now to when we land. We get off the plane, get through immigration, and bienvenidos a Mexico! As soon as we get our bags and get through customs, that is. At customs, my dad tries to tag along on my form, claiming that I “never gave his back.” Erroneous, it was in his passport. That is, until I got the dreaded red light and my bags had to be searched. THEN he wanted nothing to do with me.

When I got outside to the death trap cab, I was sent to fetch beers from the outdoor airport bar. And, due to my very important beverage mission, I was the last person to the cab, which was stuffed full of twelve people and their bags. My “seat” was on top of a suitcase, balanced against the door.

After arriving at the hotel (which is quite lovely), we went to a bar called the Thirsty Cougar. After the most delicious fresh chips and guac ever (and possibly a few beers), I was forced to commandeer a glass from the bar.

We then went to “go see our Italian friends” down the block…where I had to explain that a spumante was not, in fact, the type of Italian white they were looking for…a bottle of wine later, we were back at the hotel.

And, because I was running on three hours sleep, I went to bed and skipped any potential dinner adventures.

All in all, it was a great day. The dads are hysterical and crack the daughters up. It’s going to be a good trip.

I promise to post photos, as soon as I figure this whole blogging from my iPad thing out.

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One Response to “Yes, I’m with THOSE Dads.”

  1. Cakerypapery Sister October 14, 2012 at 3:33 pm #

    You should do a small recap of the dads history. This is a riot but sounds like we re from a special family with two dads

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