Eating At Airports

After a wonderful visit with my family, I'm back home in NC.  I'll post pictures of my visit just as soon as my brother-in-law (AHEM!) e-mails them to me.  I know you're all dying to see Aunt Di-Di in action. 

Thought of a blog entry on the plane ride home.  I was on an itty-bitty United charter flight which was a problem for anyone over 5'7" as that's about what the ceiling topped out at.  The flight attendant came back with the drink cart.  "May I get you anything?" she asked.

"Coffee, black, please," I answered.

She gave me my coffee and a bag of spicy mixed nuts and pretzels. I tore open the bag and started chomping.  And it was then that the topic for today's blog entry occurred to me.  I had the frightening realization that I will eat anything a flight attendant hands to me.  No questions asked.

Let's think about this.  If I were at the store, I would never buy this spicy nuts and pretzel mix.  Too many calories, I'm not overly fond of salty foods, etc.  Even at a party, I would pass it by for the same reasons.  But hand it to me in a semi-claustrophobic encased metal environment and I'm all about the spicy nuts and pretzels.

Odd eating habits don't just extend to on-the-airplane eating, either.  I consider eating in an airport terminal a caloric free-for-all.  I stopped at a Starbucks this morning inside the airport before my flight and along with my decaf, skim-milk latte,  ordered up a king-size apple fritter.  Now, I would never  order the fritter in my day-to-day life.  But I didn't even blink an eye at the airport.  I needed breakfast, the fritter was there, end of story. 

For some reason, I seem to think foods eaten in an airport don't count.  Like I think the Universe should see that I'm stuck in a huge, gritty, dirty, loud place with crying babies and way too many people trying not to look smug and self-important as they talk into headset phones and therefore the Universe should balance the equation by not having any food I eat in this yucky place "count."

At least, I'm hoping that's how it works.  'Cause that was a really good fritter.