Airports.  If I ever need a dose of the ridiculous, I go to the airport.  Any airport in the world provides spectacular free entertainment.  Traveling is one of my favorite extra-curricular activities.  Yes, the dreaming about and the planning to go and exploring when I get there is nice, but the people watching is the true trip of any trip.  Ironically, people seem to leave their manners, values and common sense at the security checkpoint.


Good morning to the lady who is eating fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cole slaw and a biscuit for breakfast.  Sitting next to her is her husband licking a vanilla ice cream cone with sprinkles.  Other folks are drinking beer and still others nibbling on pepperoni pizza.  It's 9:06am.


Howdy to the man who is giving himself a pedicure while waiting for his flight to board.  No proper tools, just his fingernails and the cap of a ballpoint pen.


Hello to the mother of four attempting to feed her baby, corral the toddler, discipline the other toddler, color with the five year old while posting pictures of this lovely scene on Facebook. Mother to mother - whoever you are going to visit - should be visiting you.


Hey to the twenty-something traveler.  You realize the airport is not a youth hostel, right?  Roll up your sleeping bag, fold your clothes and put them back in your pack.  The airport is not your destination.


To the business man with his iPad and no luggage - yes, we are impressed.  To the lady walking around in her bare feet - no shirt, no shoes, no service!  To the international couple who are impeccably dressed strolling through the airport oozing intrigue - I'm sorry.


As I sit in judgment of my fellow travelers, I wonder what character I play in their stories.  I am sitting on the grimy airport floor, eating a hamburger with onions and mustard dripping from the bun looking forward to noshing on the cheese/caramel popcorn mix I am taking home to the kids (wink. wink).  Oh and it's 9:06am.

I used to date a felon.  A real live criminal who spent time in prison.  He had tattoos that were dangerous and stories that shocked me and a way about him that made me question my loyalty to the law.  Of course by the time I dated him he was out of prison and mostly living as a law abiding citizen.  But knowing his past made me feel alive. 

I used to drink until the wee hours of the morning.  The darker the bar, the dingier the atmosphere, the more I could breathe.  Stumbling home past the bus stop with children in their school uniforms and weighted down book-bags, ironically, I felt invincible. 

I used to be a lesbian. Edgy, wild and a little shocking considering I was the friendly cheerleader from small town Illinois.  I craved wild.  I demanded excitement.  I invited controversy. 

But sadly, my wild is wilting. I'm exhausted.  The other day I went to the grand opening of the  Publix grocery store and was happy to wander up and down the aisles alone.  No felons.  No  jägermeister shots.  Very few lesbians.  Just me and the Publix employees and a free balloon.

​I am not sure if this is age creeping up on me or I played all of my wild cards.  Whatever is happening, I welcome the change in pace.  I am not throwing in the towel but I am ready to exchange crazy for predictable.  I want to be one among many.  I strive to be a worker among workers. 

I am not sure if this kind of transformation is allowed.  I hope so.  I at least need a hiatus, a hall pass, a time out.   People tell me to act my way into right behavior.  Well, let the show begin.  I will be the normal looking woman tootling down the grocery store aisle, buying normal food, thinking normal thoughts and not at all attracted to the man behind the meat counter with tattoo sleeves holding a clever, wearing a blood stained apron offering to personally take care of my fresh meat needs.  Sigh.