“Your license expires in 14 days,” the TSA agent says when he hands back my ticket and Minnesota State issued identification. There was a moment a few months ago when I thought about getting a New York license. Then reality set in. Why would I spend 4 hours standing in line or on line, like they say in New York, at the DMV so I can drive in a state where I have no car? Especially when my old license works just fine for rental companies. “Thanks,” I reply and proceed through security.
Because I’m an anxious traveler, I always arrive early, today being no exception. I have over hour before my flight leaves. I’m in no mood to read and the better idea sounds like me lugging all my stuff into an airport bar for $12 glasses of house white wine. I plop down at the bar, place my order and grab my phone. I. DON’T. EVEN. BELIEVE. THIS. Yesterday, somehow in my travel re-booking I missed this: TEXT FROM TOWN AND COUNTRY: You back? I distinctly remember telling him that I would be gone for two weeks, so of course I am back.
What also irritates me is how he knows when I have purged him from my system, when I have decided to move on, when I have decided to make a go of with Dr. Froggy. This is when he decides to return? This time though I feel that I have 5,000 years of Hinduism and Durga’s wisdom on my side. I remember that the pandit told me that this was not a good match. Which I mean, I am college educated, and at some level I must have KNOWN Town and Country was not a good match. But maybe I needed that divine intervention to liberate me from my worldly, lustful, stupid self.
I take a few slow sips of my wine and wonder if he is wondering why I have not written back to him in over a day. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Or maybe it really is like what Siobhan said. That I am not special to him and that he probably has several women in his life like me. My phone alerts me to a text and I slide it over and flip it open.
TEXT FROM TOWN AND COUNTRY: You okay? Haven’t heard back.