It is always nice to go on vacation and always good to come home. In case some of you hadn’t noticed, it has been kind of quiet here on my site and my social media this week while I was on vacay.
I took a little break just before getting things ready to publish my book, Conflicted Hearts, with my galpal, Cindy. We jaunted off to Vegas for four days. The two redheads went to paint the town ‘red’ and shop ’til we drop, and we did just that.
Our venture began very early Tuesday morning to catch our flight. The usually quite comfortable WestJet seats had somehow became like sitting in a sardine can. This was an unpleasant and uncomfortable surprise to me, being that I had just flown WestJet only a few months ago and many times before and I always applauded them for being a comfortable flight.
Cindy nor I are big people and we both have short legs and trying to cross them was a feat in itself. We couldn’t even slide into our seats without pivoting around on one leg to plop into our seat.
The unusually extra long flight (due to no tail winds) only fuelled my claustrophobia as we both complained to one other most of the way there, as though it was going to change anything……not, but it felt better if we could bitch about it. We did laugh though and reminisced about the days when travelling was fun.
In those days past, they didn’t fit as many seats as they could on the plane so humans actually had leg room (we pitied those who were taller than us…..that would be anyone taller than five foot three), food was real and included in the price, drinks were free, there was more than one washroom on each end and you didn’t have to undress publicly to get through security and get a dose of radiation in the process. I beefed about tossing your water at security so you can re-purchase more only feet away from security for just four dollars more.
Yes, we were flying to sunny Las Vegas where the temps had been rising to close to 80 degrees daily….until we got there, it was around 50 degrees. As we shivered getting into the limo we looked on the bright side and decided it was still warmer than where we were coming from, leaving our early winter behind.
Gambling was not a friend to me as I donated to the casinos and pointed to a chandelier to Cindy and told her it was mine because I thought I had helped pay for it. We ate at some fine restaurants and put a lot of miles on our feet, which never seemed to stop hurting no matter how many shoes we brought or bought. But that didn’t deter us from spending almost a whole day at the mall, walking, shopping and carrying the many bags that crooked our necks and shoulders. Sometimes a girl has to sacrifice to get some power shopping done.
Sleeping had become a lost luxury as we hit the sheets long after midnight and found ourselves waking at 5am, lucky if it was 7am. Neither of us are drinkers but I decided one night at dinner that we should have a martini…..just because. They were so yummy that we had another. I will only say that these were VEGAS SIZED drinks.
As we happily jaunted over to the casino after our late dinner, I decided that I should have just one more martini. I felt fine….real fine. A few hours later, after my nightly donation to the slot machines, I decided to call it a night and left Cindy, who never seemed to have a problem lasting hours on twenty dollars at a machine, where my twenties lasted about three minutes.
I walked the long, what seemed like half mile walk back to our room, seemingly fine and glad I was numb to the pain in my high heeled feet. I got into the room….and suddenly it hit me. Boom! The room started spinning and I instantly passed out flat, half on Cindy’s bed and the rest of me hanging off the chaise at the end of the bed. This scene was not unlike a Roadrunner cartoon when something hits him and he lays flattened.
When Cindy finally came up and saw me posed, sprawled out like a rag doll, fully clothed, she got concerned. She shook me and I raised my head in a spinning stupor and somehow managed to make a run for the porcelain. It was a rough night for me and an even rougher, next, long day. That was the beginning and end of my drinking binge.
Yup, three drinks and I was down for the count. Note to myself……I am not twenty-five anymore. Well we laughed a lot about it after and I was grateful she didn’t have her ever trusty camera on hand to catch that Kodak moment.
Alas, our time in Vegas was coming to an end. It was time to pack and get creative about fitting our new purchases in our bags and not being overweight in luggage fees. Happily I got my bag weighed in at only one pound under the fifty pound allowance…….yes, I know it was only four days!
It was time to wheel our luggage, bags and purses through the long, long corridor to the elevators then through the half mile long casino to the front lobby to our awaiting limo to go to the airport to catch our delayed flight back to Toronto. It was beautiful weather, hot in the mid seventies. Of course it was, we were leaving.
We got on the plane finally and found that there was no cabin space for my overstuffed heavy carryon bag. When I spotted an available spot two rows down from us I tried with all my might to lift that bag in the air into that cabin to no avail. Finally a kind man in row 8 (who I later named him Row 8), offered assistance and got it up for me. After Cindy and I sat down in our tiny crawlspace and I turned back to the helpful man and said, “Hi man in row 8, would you please be kind enough to get my bag back down when we land?” He kindly offered to do so and Cindy and I laughed and reminisced over the days we just spent together and some of the characters we met along the way, then we happily ate our left over dinners from Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant the night before.
Cindy and I share the same passion for Vegas. We have both been there many, many times and we often reminisce together about ‘the old’ days of Vegas, when Vegas was Vegas. As we took off in flight and rose over the beautiful Sierra mountains and the Grand Canyon, we chatted about the next time we will be back there. When we landed “Man in Row 8” kindly took my bag down and handed it to me. As we walked on the long, long walk to customs with our bags in tow we approached the escalator down which was broken. With my purse weighing at least twenty pounds and my carryon not far from thirty-five pounds, I could barely make it down the escalator when lo and behold behind me approached, Man in Row 8. He once again kindly offered to tote my bag down the non functioning escalator. As we sailed through customs and got our bags we were on our way back home. Note to myself…..Upgrade seats to Florida for winter vacation!