Where I Change My Name

Having arrived in Tampa, we did what all people do who fly United – we lined up at lost luggage. Fabbo's luggage is vacationing in an unknown place. The guy in front of her seemed to be stuck on the fact his luggage was not there – he kept repeating, “But you've lost my luggage”. The service agent was very polite to him, but I wanted to step up, flick the guy on the head and say, “We get it buddy! Come to grips with reality, fill out the form and get on with your life!”

I apologize to all my fellow Canadians for letting you down. Apparently I don't understand English because when I called for a shuttle bus I heard, “Wait at the red #1 sign” which is an incorrect translation of, “Go around the corner to the circular driveway”. Guess what – if you wait in the wrong place the shuttle doesn't actually pick you up!

Met up with the rest of my fellow convention goers - Dory, Birky, Mystere, and Fabbo for supper. 9:00 pm Friday = a waiting list of 1 1/2 hours. With time on our hands we tromped on down to Victoria Secret - one of us doesn't have any underwear! Or socks, or jeans, or shirts or body lotion.... Properly stocked up we went back to the restaurant in case the hour we had left to wait had magically decreased to 5 minutes.

No such luck. We hid out in the bar (if you have a table you can eat right away) and scoped out a table we thought would soon be empty. Two youngsters on a date. No ring on either one of them and half of her meal in a box (you can't eat much on a date - you want him to think he's all you ever really need). A bit of hand holding and some smoochy eyes, led us to suppose their meal was over and we had our eyes all over their table. Fabbo and I briefly toyed with the idea of pretending to be his or her lover/jilted girlfriend to see if we could get them to pick a fight.

Just when Fabbo finished rehearsing her jilted lesbian lover speech, another table's pager started flashing. Being the eagle eyed observer that I am, and noticing their dishes were mostly empty, I pounced all over them. Offering a variety of incentives (most of which make me blush and which I cannot repeat in mixed company), the foursome handed over the magic table flasher.

I was at the front desk in five seconds flat, having just changed my name to "Kirsten". Its a good thing the table wasn't under "Bubba", I'm not sure I could have pulled that one off. BTW - I don't look anything like the original Kirsten although I am younger, she looked a bit richer than me (my husband is better looking though and has all his own hair too).

So, until the next time I'm required to change my name for material gain, its Kirsten, signing out. "Good night y'all"