Just to prove to You that Perfect Me can transform any event into a madcap adventure.
Minding my own business I left the Shiney Apple, hugging Beth Dearest goodbye and meandering over to Central Park West for the C to the A at 59th, thus avoiding the horrors of the Nassau/Fulton stop of stench-ridden air where the air is three parts odour, one part oxygen and the lighting is nearly epilepsy-inducing.
Platform waiting and then on the A. Yee-Ha, things are working wondrously and nowhere's near the chaos of the last dragadocious trips back to Middling City where, let's see, a jumper (if you epinw recall) rendered a train bio-spattered and unwavering from stopping whilst authorities reckoned Yup, a jumper. Then the blizzard and the 4 train just not moving. Just not and the subsequent cab search and finding the A. So last night. A gets me to Howard Beach and I am on the AirTrain getting to JetBlue terminus. Quasi-terminus. Then an unintelligible announcement: GGEU HEJ SHEHT RESLSL.
We passengers look at each other, Did You understand that.
Another announcement.
Pretty much same as before but another man's voice. We sit for about half an hour. My plane is leaving in forty minutes. I am sitting, then standing, then walking along platform searching for clues and answers. Finally a guy with an answer. And what an answer. Yeah, they're holding us because... train... before us... problem... don't know... leaving.
So I try calling JetBlue to say HIIIII, I am enfuckin route but keep getting disconnected. I call Kennedy to say I may not be arriving in Middling City after all. We then get rolling again and I run to the kiosk for checkin and am closed out because the plane is leaving imminently. I approach the staffers, explain away, a helpful woman grabs my i.d. and RUNS me through everything, depositing me at Gate 10 in a full-body sweat. Didn't catch her name as I'd be sending her mad props and a thank you note and she leaves and some tall and obviously above-average arrogant handsome jerk looks at me and says Ohh, SMI-ILE.
Now, if you are a man and are reading this you've never experienced, perhaps, this scenario of dishevelment or hyper-introspection when a complete stranger begs you to give up your bestest Mary Tyler Moore Smile. I looked at him with the patented PaintMelt Stare© and said YOU have no idea what I've just been through and continued along the gangway. Then I'm standing in my little row (18, to be precise, you know, like Danny Gare) and some other arse looks up at me like I'm standing there just to admire him.
I mean really.
Back to Middling City reality of sorts: work-imbued, clusters of moments of adrenaline-enhanced productivity, rock on the hi-fi, moments of petting Extra the Cat and dreams of gardening.

Gardens Teeming with Love.